


Anything is Quite Possible

by fringeperson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, James isn't a good guy here, Lily makes a deal with Rumple to save Harry, required by magical contract to be a good parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: If you know who to ask, then 'anything' really is possible, provided you're willing to pay equal to the value of your desire. Lily will do anything to protect her baby. Rumplestiltskin is rather fond of that word. Rumbelle later, and other pairings.~Originally posted in '17
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Harry Potter & Belle (Once Upon a Time), Harry Potter & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

Lily, heavily pregnant though she was, ran from the room. She'd never been a delicate flower, whatever her name might have implied. Her husband could fuss all he liked, but she hadn't been transfigured into spun glass just because she had another life growing inside of her.

What had happened was she'd been taken off the love potions. Love potion didn't mix well with pregnancy, and James had guessed – correctly – that she wouldn't leave him now that she was pregnant with his baby. Besides, being married to a man who had recently inherited the title of Lord of an Ancient and Noble House came with benefits, and he was an auror besides, so it was possible (read: damn bloody likely) that he wouldn't live to see the end of this stupid war.

Even without the prophecy hanging over their heads and half-known to the enemy. A prophecy that Lily, for one, didn't believe for a second, whatever impression to the contrary she'd given her husband and Dumbledore when she'd run from the room upon being told it.

“I may not give a damn about your father right now baby,” Lily whispered to her child as she caressed her distended midsection and paced her private sitting room (she was the wife of a man who was raised in a culture that was still stuck in the regency – and that at the most recent; she had her own set of chambers apart from her husband's. They just hadn't been used much before she became pregnant). “But you're _my_ baby, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you don't get dragged into Dumbledore's war as well.”

“That sounds promising,” a strange voice twittered from behind her.

Lily spun on the spot, green eyes flashing and wand raised in readiness to defend herself and her child.

“Now now, no need for that dearie,” tutted the strange-looking man that, even standing still, gave an impression of restless, flighty movement. He wore a bright navy vest over a blue satin poet-style shirt, and leather pants that were tucked into knee-high boots. He had green-gold skin that looked scaly and rough. His hair was in limp-looking ringlets of a faded, mousey, brown-grey sort of colour with hints of the same olive-green that tinged his skin. His eyes were large in his face, and his irises were large in his eyes, and though it was hardly light his pupils were very small. He didn't look human...

He was also clearly not a Death Eater, but that one fact didn't make him friendly by default.

“Who are you?” Lily demanded. “And what are you doing here?”

“I am Rumplestiltskin,” the man said with a flourish and a grin that showed off his slightly crooked teeth. “And I can help you with your troubles. For a price.”

Lily lowered her wand only slightly. So that it was pointed at the strange man's midsection, rather than his face.

“I'm listening,” she allowed.

“Oh, that's not the thing this time dearie,” Rumplestiltskin scolded with a smile and a pair of shaking fingers. “What is it that you want? And what are you willing to give me to make sure that it happens?” he asked with a sly, wide smile spread across his face.

“I want my baby to survive this stupid war,” Lily answered. “I want him to live a safe, happy life -” which she knew meant away from the machinations of Albus bloody Dumbledore. She might be muggle-born, but she was also credited as the brightest witch of her age. She knew the man was manipulative. After all, he was the one who had suggested James use love potions to get her to marry him. “I want him to grow up to be a gentleman.”

“That's entirely open to interpretation and very subjective dearie,” pointed out the man with the green-gold skin and expressive hands.

“A smart and moral man,” Lily amended. “One who can inherit his father's title of Lord Potter and wield the power that will come with that title in an intelligent, useful way. I _don't_ want him to ever be a spoilt, bullying, brat of a man like his father is, thinking he's the best thing to ever have happened to the world. I don't want my baby to think in the stark terms of the dichotomy of good and evil,” she allowed, lowering her wand to rest at her side at last. “Just so long as he understands the difference between right and wrong. He should know about duty, honour, and doing what's right, even when it isn't easy... and that the end doesn't justify the means.”

“That's quite the tall order, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin pointed out, nearly all the merriment gone from his mien as he considered her and her request seriously.

“And I'm not done,” Lily informed him. “My baby should have _happiness_. Joy. Laughter and song. He should have music and dancing and smiles and hugs. He should have beauty in his life.”

“The granting of such a wish wouldn't come cheap,” Rumplestiltskin informed her.

“I've been casting spells of protection over my baby for the last six months,” Lily stated with a fierce determination in her eyes. “The strongest of them will see me die protecting him. I'm not afraid of any price you might have.”

“Your husband's life?” the man enquired curiously.

“He got me to marry him by slipping potions into my drinks,” Lily informed the man, her tone flat and cold. “I'm free of them while I'm pregnant though. I never, in my right mind, actually _wanted_ to be his wife, even if it has elevated me to the peerage. I only haven't left him already because plans like divorcing a Lord take time, especially in Magical Britain, and he's just as likely to die while he's out on a 'mission' for Dumbledore, and then it wouldn't matter.”

“No love lost there,” the man noted thoughtfully. “The wealth of his family?” he suggested.

Lily smiled at that. “If you're the same Rumplestiltskin that spins straw into gold? Then I don't think you need it,” she observed. “The Ancient and Noble House of Potter is related to just about every other Ancient and Noble House in the Empire though. There are extensive properties, and I'm fairly sure that every single one of them has a library as well as all sorts of valuables throughout the halls, and knowledge is always more useful than dull metal.”

The peculiar man hummed lightly and began to pace, and his steps were so graceful that it was almost like he was dancing, despite the solemnity of his actions.

“Your child, raised as you desire, in exchange for your life, your husband's life, and all the material wealth of your husband's very extended family save that which are specifically coin, clothing, living creatures or immovable buildings. Every book, every piece of furniture, every magical object, every potion made and every spell that is written down, will become mine.”

“If I survive, and my baby is still safe, then I'll raise him myself, and you'll get nothing,” Lily claimed.

“And if your husband outlives you, then I'll kill him when I take the rest, and then I'll take your child, and I'll raise him, just as you have requested. He'll be a happy child, and he'll grow into a man that everybody should aspire to be like, as per your specifications. Do we have a deal?” he asked, and offered his hand to shake. The grin on his face was less than friendly, but still sincere.

Lily considered for a moment, but ultimately placed her hand in his. “Deal,” she agreed. This would see not only her son safe and cared for, but it would also be revenge on all of the purebloods who were so opinionated about this war. For them to be left with empty houses and only coin in their vaults, all of their precious books and artefacts gone... yes, that would do nicely for revenge as well.

“One more thing before I go dearie,” Rumplestiltskin said, turning back from where he was half-turned away from her. “What's the wee lad's name?”

“Harry.”

~oOo~

Just three months shy of two years later, Rumplestiltskin returned to the world where he had made a deal with a fiery young woman who, despite her situation, refused to give in to fate. He could appreciate a woman like that. She was stronger than the damsel-types that infested the Enchanted Forest, and more selfless than the women who took it upon themselves to learn magic so that they could improve their situations.

Lily Evans-Potter  _had_ learned magic, but not to change her situation. She had learned because it was something that was simply  _done_ in her world when there was a child who had the gift. That she had used magic to protect her child was more in line with any other mother without power standing between an ogre and her child, cast-iron skillet in hand, when that need arose.

First things first, Rumple smiled to himself, and began the magic of finding every  _thing_ in this world that belonged to those related, by blood only, to the husband of Lily. Oh, but it was so easy to find so many relations that way. It was just a matter of following every right connection.

Oh and what a collection began to pile up before him in the garden behind the ruined house he had visited but once before. Rumple's usual delighted grin couldn't help but stretch wider than ever in sheer glee at all the incredible trinkets and amassed knowledge that he was collecting as part of this deal – oh, and he knew very well that these were things that weren't rightly the woman's to give him. He could tell she'd slipped in petty revenge as part of the deal, as part of the payment.

The price paid to him was worth the extra favour.

Even raising a child again. For the price of all this knowledge, all these interesting baubles (some of which were very large, there were even hump-backed sea-chests and larger-than-life paintings in the pile), yes, he would gladly take the child in and raise it.

When the payment began to tower too high over the ruined house, Rumple sent what was present off to his castle, and clapped his hands like an excited child as still more came to him. It had been dark when he began collecting his price. Midnight, in fact.

It was very nearly dawn by the time he'd finished collecting his treasures, and that with the aid of an impressive amount of magic. It would take him some time to sort it all, he was sure, but somewhere among all of that was bound to be something that could aid him in his own personal quest.

He didn't, actually, like the idea of a massive curse being the only way for him to reunite with his son. He was pretty damn sure his son wouldn't approve either, if he learned of it.

Then again, in his years of searching for his son, he had done a lot of things that Baelfire wouldn't have approved of, if he'd known about them.

For now though, Rumplestiltskin had a child to collect.

~oOo~

Rumple narrowed his eyes at the place where the pull of the deal had brought him. On some level, it disgusted him that such a place as this actually existed. On that same level, he was deeply unhappy about having to bear witness to its existence. It was a whole different level of disgust, however, that he felt as he collected the child from the doorstep.

The doorstep! There was frost on the ground, and some fool had left the child on the doorstep of one of these nearly nauseatingly identical houses with nothing more than a thin blanket! And a note.

“How _civilised_ ,” he snarled softly, and his sarcasm was sharp, even with no one there to hear it.

Rumplestiltskin rather thought it uncouth and clumsy. One  _never_ simply left a child on a doorstep. Especially nearing winter time. The child could well be dead before it was discovered, left unwatched in such circumstances.

Careless.

Rumplestiltskin cradled the child in his arms. Tiny little Harry. Only eighteen months old, by the calendar of his world. Old enough to have begun walking, since most children had begun to crawl at half that age. He knew that from experience.

“Well, young Harry,” Rumple cooed to the child he held, “you're mine to care for now, and I'm bound by the Deal to do better by you than I did my own son.”

So saying, the Dark One vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, back to his own castle in the Enchanted Forest.


	2. Chapter 2

He had, once upon a time, run away from serving in the army. Run away from fighting in the ogre wars. Not because he was afraid of the ogres. No. He had hobbled himself so that he could be sent home to his son. He hadn't known he was going to have a son when he had left for the war, but he did know what it was like to grow up with an absent parent or two. Or an unloving one.

Oh yes, he knew what that was like. Love, rather than cowardice, had seen him heed the words of that Seer so long ago in such a way.

And now, nearly two years on from the day he'd brought Harry to his castle, and mere days after he had finally finished sorting through every last book, trinket, and treasure he had acquired as payment to keep the boy (the discovery of the time turners had been most helpful, though unfortunately they couldn't take him back to the day he had lost Baelfire, but he had rather expected that, despite any hopes to the contrary). He hadn't read every book yet of course. That would likely take him another century or two, even with the time turners.

He couldn't leave Harry alone for too long, so the time turners were used frequently. The lad was three years old now, and the oft-smiling child was a curious little beastie. Rumple worried that one of these days, Harry would get himself into the potions ingredients (despite the locks on the door) and have himself poisoned half-way to death by accident.

When that day came though, he'd be prepared. Beozars were quite the clever little item. Rumple really was glad of the time turners though. Using them had granted him time to read that rather illuminating text from Harry's world, the one called  _Moste Potente Potions_ , from cover to cover during just one of the boy's afternoon naps.

Of course, some of the potions rather offended his sensibilities, as well as the very rules of magic that existed in the Enchanted Forest. Then he recalled his conversation with Harry's mother, and he settled. Love potions did not, after all, create  _real_ emotion, thus they did not break the rules of magic.

On this particular day, Rumplestiltskin received a plea from a kingdom that was still fighting that war, and losing.

It could have been amusing in how desperately it was given, except, of course, for the desperation itself. Here were people who were running out of options, and hope, that they were willing to turn to him, when other kingdoms asked for aid and protection from fairies and their ilk.

Rumplestiltskin would be using the nifty little time turner yet again. He'd go, investigate the situation, see how bad it really was, and just as importantly he would see what would be an appropriate price for whatever deal he might strike. The question was always what would take his fancy, what might they have that would be of use to him?

Books of magic? Unlikely, that kingdom was known as a rather straightforward place. No fairy affiliations anywhere within their borders, as far as he could tell, which left him more inclined to be kind towards them. Or obliging, at least.

He wondered, for a moment, if having the child – and raising the boy as his mother had requested – was making him softer, but ultimately decided that it didn't matter. He made deals every day. Small deals, big deals, very few deals that had anything to do with his own personal goal, and rather a lot more to do with passing time. It served his reputation quite a bit as well. Taking children was certainly something he did. He had one running around his castle to prove it.

Keeping them, however, was something he had done only once. Far more common was passing the child on to someone who would give  _anything_ for a babe of their own – the same sort of desperation that had seen the child being given up in the first place.

At the same time as he toured the kingdom that had called for his help, he was still in his castle, minding the child. Having the ability to be in two places at once was never so invaluable as when there were children that needed minding at the same time as there was work to be done. With a grin, Rumple came to a decision, and returned exactly on time to his castle, just as his past self vanished with the time turner. He had a spell to construct and a contract to write up, and it was best done while Harry was down for his nap.

~oOo~

“Sire, news from the battle field. The ogres are only a day's march from the castle.”

The voice of a soldier reporting.

“Oh my gods...”

The moan of a ruler who has lost hope.

“If only he had come...”

The insincere and pointless words of an idiot with standing.

“Well he didn't, did he!?”

The snapped answer of that same ruler who didn't care for pointless pleasantries at this time.

“Ogres are not men. We have to do something. We have to stop them.”

Idiots really should not be permitted to live. But then, that's what wars were for – a place to send the idiots to die.

“There is no stopping them.”

That king really had lost hope.

“He could be on his way right now, Papa.”

Rumple smiled at that, simply and honestly delighted at that token of faith, placed in him. Of all people.

“No, my girl, I think we must accept that he will not...”

Rumple giggled softly to himself as he banged on the door. He'd not enter that way, but it was always polite to knock before entering a room.

“It's him! It _has_ to be him,” insisted that same voice of faith. That sweet, feminine voice.

“How could he get past the walls?” That was a rhetorical question, and one delivered with some degree of sarcastic disbelief.

Rumple felt mildly insulted by it.

“Open it!” came the order.

Rumple smiled and vanished. The attention of all in the room would, he was quite sure, be on the door. That would give him plenty of room to appear behind them and make himself comfortable. Oh, and there was a chair, how thoughtful.

The doors were opened, and the only thing beyond them was a whispering wind. Still, all eyes were fixed there, and the girl – the only one of the gentle sex in the room – seemed to rise on her toes and crane her neck, as though that might let her see something that she had missed from her usual height.

“Well, that was a bit of a let-down,” Rumple declared frankly, and smiled when every single person in the room turned sharply at his voice and stared in shock.

One idiot slid his sword out slowly and stepped up to threaten him with it. It was a very shiny sword, and the man's hold on it was limp in the wrist. Rumple guessed the fool had never actually used that sword in all his life, except as a show-piece like he was now.

“You sent me a message,” he continued, unconcerned. “Something about, um... 'Help! Help! We're dying! Can you save us?'” he quoted, and allowed his amusement at the exact phrasing to show through before he began to slide up from the chair he had been sitting on. “Well the answer is,” he pushed the sword down with only a hint of annoyance, “'yes'. I can.”

The idiot displayed the entire depth of his intelligence by backing off, just a little.

“Yes, I can protect your little town. I can protect your whole country, in fact. For a price,” he said with a smile.

“We sent you a promise of gold,” the king stated, just a little desperately, and just a little more angrily.

“Ah, you see, I _make_ gold,” Rumple pointed out, using his 'I am explaining to a child' voice. That voice that was just a little higher and rarely – if ever – got used when speaking words with more than one syllable. “What I want is something a bit more special,” he explained with a hint of a hiss in his words.

Then with a flourish of his hands he produced the two contracts he had written.

“One will protect your town, the other your whole country,” he informed the little assemblage. “I promise, they're not too complex, there are no loopholes or hidden agendas. Read them aloud,” he bid carelessly.

“In exchange for the safety of the castle and all who dwell within it against the invasion of ogres, the Dark One may take for a servant the -” the king cut himself off. “No!” he objected.

“Papa?” the young woman enquired softly. “What is it?”

“You, dearie,” Rumple declared, and pointed one black-nailed finger at her. “My price is you.”

“I forbid it,” growled the idiot with his shiny, shiny sword.

“No one decides my fate but me,” the young woman snapped right back at him, which stunned every man in the room save Rumple, and she turned to him once more. “If I go with you, my friends, my family, they'll be safe?”

“That's right dearie,” Rumple agreed. “But you might want to look at the other offer before you agree to that one.”

~oOo~

Belle grabbed the second scroll from her father before he could even unroll it to read what was inside.

This scroll stipulated that she would become the wife of the man before her, and in exchange, he would set in place a spell that would kill any ogre presently within the kingdom, and would kill any ogre attempting to enter the kingdom within five steps of their crossing the border.

And the spell would last for as long as there were still ogres in the world. The people of Avonlea would never have to fear again. Their country could become a refuge for all people against ogres, and with that safety, they could prosper.

“Will... will _all_ of the duties of such a position be expected of me?” Belle managed to ask the man with the green-gold skin when she looked up from the contract in her hands. She even managed to keep her voice steady as she asked it.

“Dearie, even a monster is capable of being a gentleman, just as any human is capable of being monstrous,” he informed her, his voice mellow and serious.

“I suppose that's as much of an answer as I'm going to get,” Belle decided softly as she looked down at the contract once more.

“Your father has to sign that one though dearie,” he said lightly. “A spell as powerful as that? A sacrifice is required. You can't just agree to it for yourself. You have to be given. More to the point, you have to be given up. And it's forever dearie, don't forget that.”

Belle rounded on her father then. “Sign it,” she... Begged? Ordered? “It will protect the whole kingdom Papa,” she said more gently. “Not just the town, but the _whole kingdom_. I may be the price for that, but if it's one I'm willing to pay, then how can you say no?”

“Belle, you can't go with this... this beast,” her father begged her.

The Dark One affected offence and hurt, a hand going over his chest and his mouth dropping open as his eyes rolled slightly. Still, not a word was said. Belle spared a moment to wonder how often people spoke ill of him that he could make light of it like that.

“Yes, I can, and I will,” Belle insisted. “You have sent hundreds of soldiers out to fight those ogres, and they have died, leaving loved ones behind. This is no different, except that this? This will actually work. This will protect our home, our people, everyone. Please, Papa. Let me do this for our people.”

Belle could see that her father's heart was breaking right before her eyes, but he reached for a pen all the same, and signed the contract.

“Wonderful!” cheered the sorcerer as the contract was handed back to him, and with a worrying grin he vanished both contracts – and a ripple of magic spread out from his hand, over the map of the kingdom. It sank in, then exploded outwards. A gust of wind caught on their clothing, but that was the extent of it.

Beyond the castle though, throughout the country, ogres were dying.


	3. Chapter 3

In truth, he hadn't really wanted a wife. Not after the agony that was his marriage with Milah. Not after the utter mess that was his affair with Cora. This girl however, Belle, was nothing like either woman had been – he wouldn't have taken her for this position if she were – and though she was now his wife, that truly meant very little save that, should he so desire, she could not refuse his presence in her bed. Truly, it was such a position she had been raised to in Avonlea, where women were expected to be seen and not heard, and completely subservient to their men.

She'd likely only gotten away with bossing her father around because her assertiveness had shocked him so much that he'd just dumbly gone along with it all.

Really though, he'd taken her because Harry needed a female role model, as per the deal with the lad's mother that he be raised properly (Lily had stipulated 'dancing' among her many requests for her child, and that was one activity that didn't just work better with a female partner, it required one). That Rumple's rather large estate would benefit from having a woman's touch about it was a side-issue.

Besides, her hand was truly the best price for such a service as he had rendered. Other options were less palatable to genteel folk, especially ones who traded their daughters in politics all the time anyway. It was why the damnable fairies never told their charges about the price of their wishes. If they did, then the little bugs wouldn't have half as nice a reputation as they presently enjoyed. As it was, they were so ridiculously choose-y about who they helped. Rumple went to anybody who called, offered them a deal, and then it was up to them if they took it, with eyes wide open and (mostly) aware of the consequences.

“Come along my dear,” Rumple urged gently. “I'll show you where your chambers are, and then, if my charge has woken from his nap, we will all have a meal together.”

“Charge?” Belle asked. “Nap?”

“It was a deal, dearie,” Rumple explained as he led her through the halls. “A young mother from another realm promised me rather a lot in exchange for the health, happiness, safety and sound education of her son. He's the only child that stays with me, though I frequently take children in deals. Those children are always passed on to another, who has begged me to make a deal to give them a child. I do believe you'll like the boy.”

On the way to what would be her chambers, Rumple gave Belle a bit of a tour. After all, the Dark Castle would be her home from now on.

Ballroom – never used. Dining hall – rarely used. Kitchen – where he tended to make and take his meals. Laundry – regularly used, as he preferred the feel of clean clothing to the smell of the unwashed. Guest rooms – almost perpetually empty, and rarely occupied for more than a week at a time in the rare event he actually did have guests. There was a regularly-used nursery there though, where he kept and cared for the children he 'stole' until he found someone to 'gift' them to, and one of the guest rooms had only fairly recently been vacated by his last student. Belle was given firm instruction that she was to make herself scarce if anybody appeared in the castle that Rumple had not specifically introduced her to.

Eventually, they reached the family wing.

“There's more to the place, of course, and you may explore it at your leisure,” Rumple said. “It is your home too, now,” he added thoughtfully. “But here are your new chambers,” he declared with a flourish, and opened the doors for her.

He watched as Belle tentatively crossed the threshold of her new rooms, and smiled slightly at the way she seemed able to only gape in awe as she took in the sight of the chambers that her new husband had given her.

“What is it dearie?” Rumple asked her in a lightly teasing tone. “Not what you expected? Hm? Oh,” he stopped himself as he looked passed her and her awed expression. “I forgot about that,” he muttered, and was even vaguely apologetic in his tone. He had forgotten that the very fine room that never got slept in he had started using to keep all the extra books in. “I really must get around to properly expanding the library. Can't have my wife's personal chambers serving as storage space.”

Belle turned sharply at that, eyes bright. “Library?” she asked hopefully.

Rumple chuckled at her enthusiasm, written across her face as clearly as the ink on the contract her father had signed. There was a reason he had drawn up two contracts, rather than stopping at only offering to take her as a servant, and here it was, displayed to him. The girl adored reading, for enjoyment as much as for gaining knowledge, and she was so beautifully innocent as much as she had flashes of greatness and wisdom, as she had displayed in urging her father to sign one contract rather than the other.

“Yes dearie, I have a library. Larger than this room, though perhaps a bit dusty and a trifle disorganised. Maybe you could help me straighten it out?” he offered. “But later. You have to meet Harry!” he declared, and danced out of her room and towards another door that shared the hallway.

~oOo~

Belle, though she yearned to take even one book off those shelves and start reading straight away, was too curious by half about this child not to follow.

What she saw when she followed him into the next room surprised her. It wasn't something that made her jaw drop with awe, the way having a room that was completely lined with books from wall to wall and floor to ceiling had. Instead, it caused Belle's brow to furrow in confusion and thought as she watched, and tried to figure out just what she was seeing.

The Dark One was sitting on the edge of a bed that was made up in soft-looking green sheets and walking his fingertips along, up the body of the child, who he then proceeded to tickle into wakefulness.

“Stop Uncle Rum!” the child squealed happily, batting at the arms connected to the hands that were so playfully attacking his sides. “Stop!” he begged through his laughter.

The Dark One chuckled. A soft, loving chuckle rather than the disturbing, darkly gleeful sound he'd given voice to in her father's castle.

“What's the magic word, Harry?” the Dark One asked with a smile – a smile, not a stretched grin, but a genuinely happy smile – as he continued to tickle the boy.

“Please Uncle Rum!” the little boy gasped out. “Please stop tickling me!”

“Oh very well,” the sorcerer agreed, and relented. “There is someone I must introduce you to in any event.”

“Intra-doos me to?” the child parroted.

“Introduce,” the Dark One confirmed, and gently corrected the child's pronunciation at the same time. “Yes. My new wife, and your new aunt, Aunty Belle,” he presented, and turned where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

Belle stepped into the room feeling like an intruder, even though she was being waved over by the man she was now bound to.

“You got married, Uncle Rum?” the child asked, surprised.

“Well, there wasn't a wedding lad,” the Dark One explained. “I went to her papa with a contract, and now she's my wife.”

The child frowned, and Belle couldn't help but smile at how truly adorable he was with his cheeks puffed up and his bottom lip sticking out in thought.

“You gonna have a wedding later?” the child questioned.

“Probably not,” answered the Dark One, his voice soft and gentle. “Belle, come sit, please. You need to understand this as well.”

The child shuffled closer to the Dark One on his bed and gave Belle an eager smile as he patted the part of the bed that he'd just shifted away from.

Belle smiled back and accepted the invitations, taking her place on the other side of the child, facing her new husband.

“My work, the things that I do, my trade,” he started, a little hesitantly, like he didn't really know where to rightly begin. “People always _want_ things,” he tried again, “but you can't get something from nothing. Life doesn't work like that, and magic doesn't work like that,” he explained to the child. Then his eyes, with their large brown irises and very small pupils shifted up to Belle. “No matter what the fairies might try and trick people into believing otherwise,” he informed her lowly.

Belle bowed her head slightly. She admitted, she had been thinking about that. That the fairies never charged people for their magic.

“Fairies just let the price be inflicted upon someone else and never breathe a word of it to the one they're 'helping',” the Dark One elaborated. “But I don't lie to people like that. I don't lie at all if I can help it, though I may leave out a detail or two. I always explain up front that the magic they want has a price, and I have _them_ pay it, rather than passing it on to someone who won't know why they're suffering.”

“That makes sense,” the child declared. “When we go to market, people pay for the food and cloth they're getting. They should pay for magic too.”

Belle was gifted with the sight of that tender, gentle smile on her new husband's face again, and marvelled at it, as well as the lesson she was learning, and the wisdom of the child.

“Yes,” the Dark One agreed. “But people don't like it when I tell them what their magic will cost, so when I take the price of the magic, they forget about the magic they asked for, and only complain about no longer having the thing they agreed to part with.”

“That's stupid!” the child objected.

The sorcerer chuckled that low, soft, much more friendly chuckle again. Belle felt her skin rise into goosebumps at the sound, but couldn't understand why. Maybe she'd just felt a chill at the same time.

“Yes Harry, it's stupid,” agreed the man with the green-gold skin. “But it means that there are lots of people out there who don't like me, and would like to hurt me. They might try and hurt you to do that, they might try and hurt your new Aunty Belle,” he explained, and again he looked up from the child to fix his gaze on her.

Belle felt her breath catch in her throat at the thought. Being taken and tortured because she was his wife? Part of her protested that she hadn't signed on for that, but she had agreed to be his wife with eyes wide open. She could have chosen to be his servant instead.

“That's why I keep you hidden,” he said. “That's why I'm going to teach your Aunty Belle magic.”

Belle nearly jumped in surprise at that declaration.

“I'm to learn magic?” she asked, stunned.

“Oh yes,” the man agreed, that teasing lilt returning to his voice. “No short-cuts though, no shirking. I've learned better how to teach after my last students were such disappointments.”

“Anything worth having is worth earning,” Belle declared resolutely.

She got a smile in return, and a gleam entered her husband's eyes that seemed proud of her for that, though she wasn't at all sure that she trusted it.


	4. Chapter 4

“You'll really teach me magic?”

“I believe your words were 'no one decides my fate but me',” Rumple chirped with a smile. It wasn't the gentle smile he gave to Harry, but it wasn't his childishly malicious grin either. “And as you are now my wife, and that forever according to the contract your father signed, I'm going to make sure you can live up to those words,” he promised her, and he made it sound like a warning of horrible things to come.

“I've... I've never really seen any magic before, not until you came,” Belle confessed softly, and twisted her fingers over and around each other in her lap. “I've heard of it, but never...”

“Hmm, well, a person needs to have a spark of magic to learn to use it,” Rumple mused. “And Avonlea did seem rather bereft of even the smaller magics. Probably too many arranged marriages,” he quipped with a sneer.

Belled frowned. “Arranged marriages have an effect on magic?” she asked, confused.

“Oh of course!” Rumple declared, and was delighted to be able to give the girl a lesson even without having fetched any magic for her yet. “There are two ways a person may become magical,” he lectured. “In the first, a person may be born with the ability. Such people are either the children of people who have magic, or are born of True Love,” and he said 'True Love' in an only slightly mocking manner, which he thought was very restrained and good of him. Many people claimed such, but so very, very few of them actually did find it.

“Which is why an arranged marriage wouldn't have a magical child,” Belle said, following the thought. “Because while there might be some affection, mostly it's duty, rather than love, that brings children into such families.”

Rumple grinned that pleased grin of his. “Very clever,” he praised. “Though True Love has occasionally found itself in an arranged match. Rarely, but it has happened once or twice through the centuries.”

“I was born with magic, wasn't I, Uncle Rum?” Harry asked, only it wasn't a question, but a statement seeking affirmation. Not that the child knew it in such terms. He might be a bright boy, but his vocabulary was still somewhat limited.

“Yes,” Rumple agreed. “Both of your parents had magic, and it was passed down to you because of that.”

“You have magic, Harry?” Belle asked, curious.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “Yup! I made my toys float this morning!” he declared proudly.

“His first magic,” Rumple added to Belle. “And indication to me that he needs to start his lessons much, _much_ earlier than I had thought he would. But we have digressed. The second way a person may become magical is to take the magic from someone else. That is how _you_ will gain magic enough to learn the spells I will teach you,” he informed his wife.

For a moment, the only sound to be heard around the table where they were dining was the sound of cutlery against crockery.

“Will it hurt?” Belle asked softly.

“For you? Or for the one I will be taking the magic from?” Rumple enquired with a nasty little smile. “I assure you dearie, you will be asleep for the procedure I intend to use to grant you magic, and shan't feel a thing.”

“How did you get magic?” Belle asked.

Rumple went completely still. Rigidly so.

“Well, there was an incident with a magic bean, going to another world, coming back again,” he offered with a falsely detached tone as he resumed carving the steak that was on his plate. “And of course killing the previous Dark One, which granted me that title, and all of his power. Just as he himself had done to the Dark One before him, and so on, back to the day the first Dark One was born. But never mind all that. You'll not be killing me for your magic, I promise you that. The only weapon capable of bringing about my death is hidden away _most_ securely.”

Rumple didn't say it, but within his own mind he added to himself: all of his misery and more was granted me as well. But there were perks to the job, occasionally, and taking some time every day to sit at the spinning wheel helped him keep the dark whisperings in his mind well back. Helped him with the visions of the inevitable future as well.

“Oh yes, and I took the power to see the future from a Seer too,” he added, and wrinkled his nose as, in retrospect, being able to see the inevitable had caused him a few more headaches than he cared to admit to.

Damned inconvenient. But the temper they put him in certainly perpetuated his reputation when he was summoned shortly after experiencing one.

“A-and who will I be getting my magic from?” Belle asked a little nervously.

“There's a witch, a few days ride from here by fastest horse. She has a _taste_ for children,” he added contemptuously. “No one will miss her. She won't feel any pain from the transaction either dearie,” he assured Belle with a smile. “She'll just die,” he added with a giggle.

Belle's eyes were wide, and her jaw worked slightly but not even a squeak of sound came out.

“Uncle Rum,” Harry spoke up after a few minutes of this. “How much is that village paying you to remove the witch and keep their children safe?”

“Several reams of fabric and their finest tailor, seamstress, and cobbler will all be our guests for a week. You, dear boy, are growing entirely too fast, and I think that your Aunty Belle's wardrobe from Avonlea won't be near warm enough for this draughty castle most days,” Rumple replied with a very pleased smile.

Yes, the boy was a shrewd one, especially for being only three years old.

A small smile on Belle's face caught Rumple's eye, and he glanced over to her quickly, but she had returned to eating her meal and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Surely he must have imagined it.

~oOo~

Belle had been surprised that the Dark One would clear up his table with his own two hands, and even carry the tray off to the kitchen and request that she dry while he washed the dishes in the sink.

“Cleaning spells are...” he began to explain when she'd voiced her surprise. “Well, I've yet to find one that didn't peel off a layer of wood along with any of the stains on the table-top, let's put it that way, dearie.”

“That's why you had the offer to take me as your house keeper,” Belle realised. “You actually need a person to clean your estate.”

The man inclined his head. “That's right dearie,” he said. “I need a cleaner a great deal more than I need a wife, and you are still really quite young.”

“But you made the offer anyway,” Belle said, hoping to tease out an explanation.

“I've never cared for ogres, and while there was a time I couldn't do anything much about them, I most certainly can now,” he said. “But prices must be paid, however generous I might be feeling.”

“If you can provide what is needed to do the cleaning, then I will see that the castle is cleaned,” Belle offered. “It'll take a while, especially if I'm also to have lessons in magic. Unless you hire servants, of course, who I could direct, rather than having to do it all myself.”

“Far too risky,” her husband dismissed at once. “But if you're willing to clean the place yourself, then I'll gladly supply what you need to get the job done.”

And that was that.

Even though she had no magic yet, the first lessons in magic had begun as soon as the last tea cup was put away, back on its shelf.

This news had Harry cheering with delight. Upon entering the room where their first lesson was to be conducted though, it was Belle's face that displayed amazement. Belle was amazed because the lesson took place in the library, and the sheer number of books there awed her. To think that there were more in her bedroom as well!

“There are more books here than I could read in a lifetime,” Belle commented as she stared around herself.

Her husband giggled at that. “Oh, you'll manage to get through a few of them dearie, I'm sure,” he quipped. “I may even let you borrow a nifty little device I have that allows you to be in two places at once, so you may putter about cleaning the castle  _and_ read at the same time,” he added softly, practically whispering in her ear.

Belle guessed that this knowledge was so intimately shared because the Dark One didn't want the child to get his hands on such a thing. One child was often hard enough to chase after, but to have to chase more than one of him?

“Thank you,” she murmured back.

He bowed slightly to her as he stepped back, and with a flourish of his hand a large book flew from a shelf, and in a puff of purple smoke a blackboard appeared by his side.

“We will begin with the most basic of things, because Harry is just beginning, and Belle cannot truly begin quite yet,” he said, and lightly touched a fingertip to each of their noses as he said their names. “What is magic? How does it work? Suggestions? Theories? Come along now, you need to be able to think for yourselves. Especially you,” he said to Harry. “I made a deal with your mother on that score.”

“Magic is magic,” Harry said after biting on his lip in thought for a moment. “It works because... because it wants to.”

The man who was the Dark One, her husband, and now also her teacher, smiled at the boy.

“That,” he said with soft solemnity, “is a very good answer to be starting with.”

~oOo~

When the lesson was over, and the evening meal had been made, eaten, and cleaned up, Harry was put to bed.

Belle watched in silent amazement at the tenderness her new husband displayed as he tucked the little boy in, kissing his brow and gently combing his fingers through the boy's hair. The way he wished the child pleasant dreams before he stood and blew out all the candles but one, which he covered with a glass that was open at the top. It diffused the light further, and protected the flame from draughts – and would also protected the room. Should the candle fall, nothing would catch alight.

The one candle would burn until it burnt itself out.

The sorcerer rose from his perch on the edge of the bed and padded with surprisingly soft tread, considering his boots, towards the door where Belle stood watching.

“You're very good with children,” she observed softly.

“I've had practice,” he answered her lowly, and closed the door between them and Harry. “Goodnight,” he bid, and turned from her.

“Good- goodnight?” she repeated, surprised.

He turned back to her. “I told you dearie, even a monster can be a gentleman. It may be our 'wedding night', but while I agreed to trade for your father's greatest treasure,  _your_ greatest treasure is something that should only ever be freely given,” he informed her, and his expression then shifted to remind her of that dangerous expression he had worn when dismissing Gaston's threat to him. “I hope you will excuse me, but I still have some spinning to do,” he said, and moved to leave her standing in the hallway of the family wing.

“Wait,” Belle begged softly, and reached for him – but she didn't touch. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he might do to her if she touched him without his permission. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what it felt like to touch him. “What am I to call you?” she asked.

“My name is Rumplestitlskin,” he informed her, though this time he did not turn to face her again, only turning his head slightly to speak over his shoulder to her. “Harry, you have heard, calls me 'Uncle Rum'. As my wife, it is your privilege to use whatever affectations you like. If I do not like them, then I'll let you know.”

So saying, he left her standing there, vanishing away to another part of the castle.

Belle stood in the hallway, alone, for a few moments before she moved towards the room she had been given earlier. It was still lined with books, but she'd had a long, wearying day, and wished only for sleep at this time.

As she lay down on her bed, with its powder-blue sheets of soft, warm cotton, the full weight of the day struck her. She had left her home, her family, her friends. She was married to the Dark One – a man, if he was that, who seemed to have taken great delight in confusing her from the moment he brought her to his castle.

Belle lay down on her bed, still dressed, and cried herself to sleep. She promised herself as she cried though, that she would only cry the one night. She could have been a servant in this castle, she could be dead back in Avonlea, her home overrun by ogres. She could still be engaged to Gaston.

She wept for her loss, but she knew that, come morning, she would choose to be brave once more, and she would seek out every good thing about her situation. She wasn't naturally inclined to mourn her misfortunes for too long anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

Rumple went to sort out the matter of fetching magic for his wife early the next morning, and had returned to his castle with the price – and the witch – just in time for lunch.

“If you will please begin by taking whatever measurements you need of the young lady,” he instructed them. “I have a little ritual to prepare for, and will need her for it. Such preparations for both our work should be completed by about the same time.”

Belle had magic of her own by dinner time. By the end of the week, she had a whole new wardrobe, just as promised. So did Harry. For that matter, there were new clothes in Rumple's rooms as well.

Belle was particularly pleased about the presence of trousers in her wardrobe, as well as the skirts and dresses. She had never been offered such a garment before, but she welcomed them all the same.

Especially when it came to climbing ladders to clean the higher-up places. She'd made a good dent in the cleaning that needed to be done too, even in just a week. Well, in the parts of the castle that they regularly used anyway. And her husband had been teaching her how to cook, since that wasn't something she'd ever learned in her father's castle. She'd known how to make a good cup of tea, and about how to organise a castle with servants, but actually keeping a household wasn't something she had been prepared for by her tutors.

Now it was late. Harry was in bed, Rumple was spinning, and Belle was sitting by the fire with a book, alternating between looking at the pages before her and the man across the room. It had been an interesting week for her. Quite apart from gaining magic, a whole new wardrobe (with trousers!), and the lessons in so many subjects, Belle had been slowly, cautiously, getting to know the creature that she had bound herself to for the rest of eternity. Just the other day, while Harry was having a nap, Rumple had begun to tell her about his enemies. As his wife, she would have to be wary of them, and beware of their attempts to use her against him in any way – whether by attempting to manipulate her actions, or by simply capturing her.

“Which would be most foolish on their part, really,” he'd quipped. “It's been a while since anyone was foolish enough to try and steal from me, but I'd hope everyone would remember that I skin alive those who do.”

Belle hadn't been at all sure if he was joking or not, with the light-hearted way he'd told her that, and she wasn't sure how she would react if he decided someone needed to be skinned alive now, with Harry in the castle – and certain to hear every scream. Sound in the Dark Castle carried fairly well.

~oOo~

Harry's lessons in magic eased when Belle reminded Rumple that he was only a three-year-old boy, and he needed to have fun, as well as learn. She took charge of him in the mornings, for play. Generally outside, though still on the castle grounds – it was winter still, and beyond the enchanted grounds of the castle, the lands were buried under a thick layer of snow. Rumple didn't care for the cold to permeate his home, and large as it was, even he felt the need to go out every now and then, and not just to make his deals.

The games Belle played with Harry were still used for teaching the boy though. Belle began to teach the boy how to ride the horses that Rumple kept, though at first he just rode on the saddle in front of her and begged to go faster. They competed to see who could plant the most seeds in the garden, then diligently cared for the crop they would be able to harvest in spring – thanks to the magic around the castle that kept the weather temperate.

Belle played games with him that taught him his numbers, she read him stories and taught him to read at the same time, she even took a couple of branches and – with a little of the magic she had so far learned – turned them into wooden swords, and played at being knights, competing for the favour of their lord (Rumple, who tended to watch these games unless he was drawn away from the castle by a deal, and who also always gave the winner the small reward of getting to pick what they had for lunch).

After lunch, Harry would go down for a nap, and Rumple would loop the chain of a time-turner around his neck and Belle's, and they would seclude themselves in the library to continue Belle's lessons in magic. She was a very curious student, and since Rumple never instructed her to use her anger, and other negative emotions, to channel her magic (as he had with Cora and both of her daughters), she was also always a happy student. Magic was very much about emotion, but it was still possible to choose which emotions would be the ones used to reach the magic.

Then again, he wanted one of those girls to cast a curse for him. One he hadn't finished making yet, granted, but a curse still. Belle, he was willing to let learn whatever magic she was interested in learning. He assisted her in her learning, rather than guiding her.

They would eat, and then Rumple would go to his spinning wheel, and Belle would set about cleaning another part of the castle until Harry woke from his nap, and then the lessons began again – but with Harry joining them – until dinner time. After dinner was quiet time, then bath time for Harry before he was tucked into bed for the night, and Belle and Rumple settled in to their quiet pursuits together.

Neither one admitting that they watched the other, stealing glances or out of the corner of their eyes, as they sat there.

~oOo~

“I... I cleaned one of the upstairs rooms today,” Belle said softly, but still her voice broke the near-silence. She did this, this attempt at conversation with her husband outside of lessons and meal-times, every now and then. Sometimes she was more successful than others, but always it was a conversation that Belle felt her husband would not wish to have when Harry was listening. “I found some clothes. Too small for you, too big for Harry, and much too common for your current tastes,” she said. “Were they yours? Or did they belong to someone else?”

For a long while, Rumple didn't answer her, focused as he was on the wheel. “My son,” he said at last. “I lost him. I lost him and I retrieved him and I lost him again more thoroughly than before. I am very good at driving away those that I care about, it seems,” he quipped, but this quip was entirely without humour. “Bae wasn't the first, and he wasn't the last.”

“Well you shall not drive me away, nor Harry,” Belle stated firmly, and set aside her book entirely. She rose from her chair by the fire and crossed the room to sit by Rumple on his stool by the spindle. “If you ever wish for me to leave your side, then you may tell me so, but I won't go unless I have a way that is guaranteed to return me to you. Perhaps something along the lines of you calling my name, the way those who wish to make deals with you may call yours?” she suggested.

“You really want to be so bound to a monster like me?” Rumple questioned. “Why?”

“Because you're not a monster,” Belle answered. “You're my husband, one who took me by contract, yes, but one who has yet to exercise any of his rights under that contract, and has instead been more giving than any man I could have ever hoped for.”

“You had a life Belle, before this,” Rumple said softly, though his gesture about the room was encompassing. “Friends, family. Why did you choose to come here, with me?” he asked.

“Heroism,” Belle suggested thoughtfully. “Sacrifice? You know, there aren't a lot of opportunities in this land for women to show what they can do,” she pointed out. “To see the world, to _be_ heroes. So, when you arrived, that was my chance,” she explained softly.

“Your chance?” Rumple repeated, curious. “To do what? Your agreement could have – and has – seen you locked up in my castle for quite some time.”

“I always wanted to be brave,” Belle explained. “I figured... do the brave thing, and bravery would follow.”

“And is it everything you hoped?” Rumple questioned.

“Well, I did want to see the world,” Belle confessed. “That part didn't quite work out the way I expected,” she admitted with a tucked-away smile. “And, actually, now that I know more _about_ the world, I'm glad of it. Besides, I did save Avonlea.”

“Yes,” Rumple agreed. “You could still have saved your village by only being my servant though. Why did you choose the other option? Why bind yourself to be my wife? I know very well I'm not an attractive creature, in any sense of the word.”

“I could have just protected my town, been a servant, saved only those that I knew. The marriage contract got me out of being betrothed to Sir Gaston though,” she added with a hint of a smile. “I mean, going with you as your servant probably would have too, but that probably wouldn't have stopped Gaston from trying to reclaim me.”

Rumple raised an eyebrow. “That tall, traditionally handsome idiot with the very shiny sword and the rather limp wrist?” he checked.

Belle let out a soft, breathy laugh, and quickly bit her lip down over it. “A very accurate description,” she agreed, fighting back her smile now. “It was going to be an arranged marriage, like so many in Avonlea, but thanks to you, those papers never had the chance to be finalised. I never really cared much for Gaston anyway,” she admitted freely.

Rumple smiled a little at that. He would have been sorry to break up two who were truly in love, at least a little bit. After all, he was going to rather a lot of trouble to arrange a True Love match for a still young princess. Not that she knew it, not that anybody but he knew it yet. That was still a couple of years away.

“To me love is... love is layered,” Belle said, and her eyes were flittering over Rumple's form in a way he was more acutely aware of than he had expected to be. “Love is... a mystery to be uncovered. I could never love someone as superficial as Gaston.”

“So you are, actually, happy here,” Rumple noted with some amazement.

Belle smiled and brought up a hand to gently cup one of her husband's cheeks. “Yes,” she said. “Silly man, of course I am. I have a child to please me, lessons to occupy me, and a mystery to solve in the form of my very, very layered husband.”

Rumple could only stare at this girl, this young woman, his wife, completely dumbstruck.

Her smile stretched a little further. “Tomorrow I intend to begin taking down the curtains while Harry has his nap. The ones in the parts of the castle we use regularly, at least. I'll wash them, then hang them back up again when they're dry, but I intend to keep them open once they're re-hung. We should let some light in, since it's very nearly spring.”

“I suppose I should remove the nails keeping them in place then,” Rumple offered hastily.

Belle chuckled softly at that. “I'll manage,” she promised. “I think I have learned enough magic by now for that. Good night, husband,” she bid, and with the pad of her thumb she gently caressed the cheek she was holding, then stood, collected her book, and retired to her chambers for the night.

“Yes,” Rumple agreed, caught off guard by the smile that had danced around her lips as she addressed him by his title of 'husband'. His first wife had certainly never been so pleased with that connection to him. “Yes, of course, good night.”

She had already left him alone though. Alone, confused, and with a head full of thoughts he didn't know what to do with. Thus, he did what he always did when he needed to clear his head: Rumple returned to his spinning wheel.


	6. Chapter 6

Creating the token that would enable Belle to go, come, or return to Rumple – no matter the realm either one of them was in, and through any enchantments that might block their way – was not an easy thing. Rumple did his best thinking when he was at his spinning wheel, but he needed to research through his books in order to find the magic to make the token.

He chose books that, from their titles, he hoped would be useful, and had Belle do that research for him while he spun, reading aloud for him anything that was vaguely relevant.

He came to quite like her voice, melodious as it was even when reading out the most dull, dry, or heinous of texts. After all, as the Dark One, he dabbled in rather a lot of Dark magic, which wasn't always the most pleasant of things.

Of course, Rumple had been looking for ways to cross the realms to reach a person, one specific person, for quite some time, so he had a lot of research done already. But that search was all intent on finding his son, finding a way to reach the land without magic where Baelfire had gone.

“You expanded the library,” Belle noticed when she stepped into the room for their morning lesson and research session.

“It was time and past to get those books out of your room and where they belong,” he answered her absently. “And since I like to keep my books sorted together by relevance, we'll have to read through them at least a little way before they get shelved.”

Belle tucked a smile away in the corner of her mouth. “And since we're doing a lot of researching anyway, we'll be able to keep an eye out for anything useful as we go.”

“Clever girl,” Rumple praised softly.

They'd had that conversation not all that long into the spring. It was well and truly summer before Belle stumbled upon something relevant (and something that Rumple hadn't growled at in frustration at least once a decade already). Among all of the mass of books from Harry's home world that had been stored in Belle's room, there included one on the breeding, training, and enchanting of post owls, so that they could always find the person who they were taking their mail to.

“I don't know if it will cross realms, or if it can get through enchantments, but the claim that the mail will 'always' reach its recipient bears investigation,” Belle said as she shifted the book on the table in the middle of the library, so that they could read it together.

Rumple went out that afternoon, when Harry was down for his nap and Belle was puttering about the castle with her duster, and when he returned, it was with a cage in hand. A cage that contained a pair of owls, and would be used to learn how to use the enchantments described in the book that Bell had found.

More importantly though, the owls would be used to test how those enchantments could be modified. Even if they hadn't found the books about 'portkeys' and 'apparating' and 'floo travel', those enchantments would certainly be modified, though without those books Rumple would have had to rely more on the transportation magic already known to the Enchanted Forest.

~oOo~

Summer turned to autumn, autumn turned to winter, Harry was four years old, and Belle had been living with the child and him for a year. Her light touches, given freely and without hesitation, had slowly, slowly allowed him to welcome them without freezing up, without twitching away, without being shocked into a stupor that she would want to have anything at all to do with him.

Rumple had initiated very little contact between them though, and still did not visit his wife's chambers. He had told her that he would not, and he was a monster of his word.

That last precious thing she had, that had to be given freely. He was not  _such_ a monster that he would take it from her as his right, simply because she was his wife.

But he was still man enough that, after a year of her kindness, of her appreciating his humour, of her light touches and gentle caresses, of her displays of intelligence and the echo of her laughter through the castle as she played with Harry... well, he was a bit tense, though sitting at his spinning wheel every day, and long, hot baths in the evening certainly helped.

“Huh,” came the familiar voice of his wife from her place by the fire, a very large book in her lap.

One that had clearly come from Harry's home world, and that had not yet been moved from Belle's room to the library. He would certainly have remembered seeing such a thick book with such a thin, flimsy, glossy cover.

They had already moved several similarly bound books from her room to the library, and all of them were fascinating (and nearly all of them had Lily Potter written in neat script on the inside cover, and had come from one particular trunk that was very much larger on the inside than the outside), but none of them were quite that thick.

“What are you reading about my dear?” he called softly across the room, never faltering in his spinning.

“This book is a study on how the body works,” Belle answered, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “I'm not sure I can pronounce half the words in here though,” she admitted ruefully as she finally looked up from the text before her.

“A fascinating text to be sure,” he agreed. “Though the unintelligible words throughout must frustrate you.” He knew enough of her nature by now to know that.

“They do,” she agreed. “They have a different name for every muscle and bone in the body. I think you might enjoy it actually, despite the strange, long words that I haven't a clue how to say.”

“Well, you were right about those books that talked about the laws from Harry's home, I'm sure you're right about this,” Rumple allowed. “I'll look at it myself when you're done,” he promised.

“That could take a while,” Belle pointed out.

“We have forever,” Rumple countered with a wicked little smirk. “I think we've got the time, my dear.”

Belle giggled softly, and conceded the point.

At that moment, one of the owls that Rumple had been training – and enchanting – winged through the window (which had opened just for the owl to pass through), hovered a moment by Rumple's shoulder, as though it was actually considering landing on him, before it swerved off to perch on the back of Belle's chair instead.

Rumple frowned at that. The owl should have landed by him, not Belle, but it had returned, and it had a letter tied to one of its feet. It had been the initial, base test, to see if the enchantments known to the wizards of Harry's home world had stumbled upon a way to cross the realms without realising – and it would be so, since there was certainly nothing about actually crossing realms in any of their books. It was all improvisation, but if all had gone according to their hopes, then that letter would be from the Mad Hatter, and he would have sent it from another realm.

“Spinner, how the hell are birds crossing the realms now? Thing showed up pecking at my window-pane in Wonderland, and I'd have just shooed it off if not for Grace spotting the letter. We're both well, thanks for asking, hope that Harry, your lady, and yourself are all likewise. The gold you provided, just for sending a note attached to the bird's foot, from Wonderland and not using my hat magic, is also most welcome. I hope I may look forward to similar work from you in the future, particularly as Grace is already cooing over the bird. Sincerely, Jefferson,” Belle read, having retrieved the note from the owl's foot.

The owl, relieved of its burden, had already taken off and left once more, either returning to its family or going hunting for a morsel for its supper.

Belle looked up from the note to smile at Rumple.

He was grinning back excitedly. The first test with inter-realm travelling for the owls had worked. It had taken five days, but it had worked.

Next, to speed the journey. When it could be done within an hour, then Rumple would move on to making it so the owl could escape a room designed to keep it in. He had no illusions that his enemies wouldn't kidnap Belle and/or Harry in order to hurt him, and they would be put in places designed to keep them in, and him out. He knew Regina was very keen on having spells about her castle so that he couldn't pop in on her uninvited. She hadn't succeeded in keeping him out when he wanted to annoy her yet, but that didn't mean she would stop trying.

~oOo~

Rumple was confident that he had perfected the spell that would enable his little family to always be able to reach each other, through anything. Not even ten-foot-thick walls made of magical wood specifically designed to keep a powerful sorcerer contained would be a barrier to them.

They could be shut up in a room with no windows or doors, and they would still be able to escape it.

Of course, he intended to test it at least five times, just to be sure, before he applied the enchantment to his wife and ward.

Still, the initial expression of suspected success had been enough to see Belle throw her arms around him in a delighted embrace as she cheered a congratulations. It had been the work of a few years, but it was nearly complete, at last.

“I'm going to go clean the ballroom,” Belle declared happily. “You'll probably be done testing by the time I'm done cleaning, and then we can have a little party to celebrate.”

“I agree with the sentiment, but why the ballroom?” Rumple asked.

Belle smiled at him. “Because I am so happy that I could dance,” she declared.

“Very well,” Rumple agreed. “Harry is old enough now to begin to learn to dance as well, I suppose, so the ballroom can continue to be used for that after our little celebration. I intend to have this spell on each and every one of us before we begin actually celebrating though,” he cautioned, wagging a cautionary finger at her.

Belle smiled and lay one of her hands over his. “Yes, I promise,” she agreed. “What would you like me to bake for our party?”

“It's summer, let's have summer berry pudding,” he suggested with a smile of his own to answer hers.

Belle's lips twisted into a knowing smirk. “With or without a bit of dark chocolate mixed through?” she asked.

“I'm not fussy, make one of each,” Rumple answered lightly, and they giggled together before separating to their own tasks.

Harry, now too old to be taking naps in the afternoon, was at that time playing with the dogs that Rumple had procured. Unable to give the lad human friends, and himself aware of what it was like to be without, had fetched for the child the same comfort he'd found to fill that lack, outside of the tranquillity given to him by the spinning wheel.

They had quite the pack of hounds, but Harry loved them dearly, Belle enjoyed laughing at their antics, and Rumple was well able to keep the animals all in line, though they brought smiles of nostalgia to his face as well.

~oOo~

It took a week for Belle to be completely satisfied with the state of the ballroom. She had never so much as dusted and swept it before. As Rumple said when he gave her the quick tour the day he brought her to the castle: the room was never used. As such, she had never cleaned it, and certainly not with the thorough dedication she gave the rooms of the castle that were actually used.

Rumple was done with his testing in five days, and had applied the spells to himself, Belle, and Harry all on the sixth.

Harry, nine by this time, was very excited about the whole prospect. To always be able to return home safely, or to be able to find his Uncle Rum and Aunty Belle no matter where they were, it was a guarantee. A guarantee that, should he leave the grounds of the Dark Castle (not that he had given such a thing any thought, as he was quite happy where he was), nothing could stop him from returning.

And they were going to have a party!

Belle, however, let out a frustrated groan just as she set the pitcher of punch on the table with the puddings.

“Whatever is the matter my dear?” Rumple asked, surprised at the expression of pained frustration that adorned his pretty little wife's face.

“Music,” Belle answered. “I forgot about music. We can't very well dance in silence, and as much as I enjoy humming while I clean, that isn't really right for a party.”

“No need to worry about that my dear,” Rumple said, and with a flourish of one hand towards the further end of the ballroom, instruments were conjured. Instruments that proceeded to play themselves at the snap of his fingers.

“There, music for the party. Now go put on your party dress, and I will see that Harry is as clean and handsome as a boy his age can be,” he said, and made shooing motions at her. “We'll see you back down here when you're ready.”

“Rumple...” Belle hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Will I be able to use a mirror tonight?” Belle asked seriously. She had learned about mirror magic somewhere along the line, in between all the other magics. She had also learned that it was something that Regina rather favoured.

Generally, she just brushed her hair and tied it back so that it was secure, not worrying about it being pretty. Looks didn't mean much in the Dark Castle, where the master had green-gold skin, black claws, and slightly yellowed fangs, after all. They always dressed well, but as they rarely went anywhere, they were also generally dressed quite casually. No, looks did not much matter in the Dark Castle.

But they were having a party, and Belle wanted to do something a bit different with her hair for the evening.

Rumple hesitated. “Here,” he said after a moment, and with a wave of his hand produced a black bowl, full of water. “This cannot be spied through, and you know the magic to stop the water from falling out now, so you may use this in place of a mirror.”

Belle smiled happily, cupped one of his cheeks with one hand and caressed his skin with her thumb fondly. Then she took the bowl and retreated to her rooms.

Rumple watched her go, and wondered not for the first time if he wished she would stop touching him altogether, or that she would touch him in a different way, or that she might some day come to care for him enough that she would replace her hand on his cheek with her lips. She certainly gave Harry kisses to his cheeks, brow and hair freely enough.

Then again, so did he. But the child was utterly loveable, and himself free with his hugs, though his kisses had tapered off as he grew older.

Rumple shook his head to dislodge the thoughts, and left the ballroom behind for the family wing of the castle. He was going to participate in a private ball with his wife and his ward. Even though there would be no audience, and no pompous nobles to sneer and judge, he still wanted to look his best for the occasion.

~oOo~

Rumple's breath caught in his chest when Belle stepped into the ballroom once more. He was decked out in rich burgundy silks, embroidered with the gold thread that he spun. Harry was dressed in a fine, deep blue. Belle... Belle was radiant in her ballgown of gold, which was inverse to Rumple's own attire in that the bodice had been embroidered with burgundy threads.

“Where ever did you find...?” he asked faintly.

Belle shyly bit down on her lips. “Ah, you remember that rather silly golden dress I was wearing when we met? I used a little magic to make it fit again -” she had grown taller, and her figure was more full and womanly than when Rumple had taken her from her father's castle. “- and then a little more to make it less childish in design,” she admitted. “Just small magics,” she added quickly.

“Well, you're beautiful,” Rumple complimented sincerely.

“Really, _really_ pretty, Aunty Belle,” Harry agreed.

Belle smiled at the child, but then Rumple was stretching one leg forward, bending the other and – with one hand extended to her – bowed slightly at the waist.

“Would the lady care to dance?” he offered.

Belle smiled brightly and slipped her hand into his.

The dance Rumple led her through wasn't one of the formal, courtly ones where every person on the dance floor was doing the exact same thing, following a pattern of movements that were stiff and maintained a certain distance. No, he gently held the hand she had given him in his own, and held her waist with the other. With sure movements he guided her around the dance floor. They waltzed, he spun her and tenderly dipped her, he lifted her off the floor and returned her to it, and throughout it all Belle's smile just got wider and wider.

She loved to dance, it seemed, and Rumple was not the hobble-foot he had once been. He could dance quite well now, and her delight fed his own – as did the cheers Harry gave any time Rumple dipped Belle low or lifted her high in the air.

“Belle,” Rumple said softly as he guided her towards the further side of the ballroom. “I have something to give you.”

“What's that?” Belle asked with a blissfully happy smile.

Rumple twirled her away from him, so that the hand on her waist was free to reach into a pocket of his waistcoat. He withdrew a ring of braided gold thread, and rather than spinning her back into his hold, he went down on one knee – sparing a moment to be grateful that he could do so, as the Dark One's only physical 'infirmity' was his appearance.

“Belle, my wife,” he said gently as he stared up into her loveliness. “You are overdue this particular trinket, though I would understand if you do not wish to accept it, a symbol of our bond.”

Belle smiled down at him, and bent. For the first time in the six years they had been married, she gently brushed his skin with her lips, caressing his cheek as she had so often done with one of her thumbs.

“Silly man,” she said softly. “Of course I'll accept it.”

Rumple released a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding, and slipped the ring onto the appropriate finger of Belle's hand. As he rose to his feet once more, he returned the kiss she had given his cheek, though he touched his own lips to the back of her hand.

Then they were dancing again, and Rumple led them back towards Harry, whose turn it was now to dance with Belle – his first lesson in the art.

~oOo~

It was late when their little party finished. They'd just tucked Harry into bed they heard a soft clatter from a further room so clearly, breaking through their quiet evening.

Both were quickly on their feet and moving towards the source of the sound: one of the (many) rooms where Rumple had his  _things_ on display. Items of varying value that had come from deals he had struck.

“Where the hell did this guy get so many wands?” a voice grumbled. It was soft, but voices carried just as well as little bumps and creaks in the night. “And which one is the _right_ one?”

“None of them are,” Rumple declared wickedly as the door opened before him, admitting himself and Belle to the room where the thief was. “It would seem that it really _has_ been too long since I skinned a man alive for trying to steal from me,” he quipped. “Or else you are very stupid.”

It seemed Belle was about to find out how she would react to a skinning, or a potential skinning, something she had been glad not to think about since it had been discussed between them briefly in the early days of their marriage. She determined to do the brave thing. Besides, she knew her husband better now than she had when they had initially discussed his skinning alive any thief in his home.

“Or very desperate,” Belle said, and lay a gentle hand on Rumple's shoulder, a silent request for restraint on his part, as well as asking permission to probe the matter. “What could drive a man to try and steal from the Deal Maker?” she asked. “Surely a desperate soul would be sensible enough to ask for his help instead?”

“I need to save my wife and child,” the thief informed them darkly. “And _he_ is known for asking for children as the price of his deals.”

“Dearie, you'd have as soon killed them yourself if you'd just taken a wand from me and hoped it did what you wanted,” Rumple scolded with a little smile. “Or, if you were somehow lucky enough to find one wand among all of these that would do what you wanted, it would still exact a price. Someone else's wife and child would pay for the restoration of yours.”

The thief backed away from the racks of wands – most of them taken from Harry's world, but there was one that Rumple had taken from a fairy of the Enchanted Forest as well, oh, just a few weeks ago.

“So you have broken into the Dark One's home, and you have realised that theft, in this case, is a very bad idea,” Belle commented. “I suggest you think of something to offer in exchange for the life of your family, and think fast.”

“I have a bow that is enchanted, so that any arrow fired from it will never miss,” the thief answered at once, and pulled the bow off where it was slung over this shoulder. “It is all I have, apart from my family.”

“Throw in the quiver of arrows you carry as well, a sworn oath to never speak of what you have seen here in my castle, and the names of your wife, your child, and yourself, and I'll send you back to your family with the guarantee that your wife and child will be well when you reach them,” Rumple allowed.

“I am called Robin Hood,” the thief said as he stripped himself of his quiver and held it and his bow out to be taken. “And I swear, on my life, on the life of my wife, Marion, and on the life of our unborn, still unnamed child, that I will speak of nothing I have seen since I came upon your lands.”

“I suppose that will suffice,” Rumple allowed grudgingly. “Do thank the lady for her mercy and graciousness, that your life is spared, and that the life of your family is saved.”

“Oh, it is not on mercy's account,” Belle deferred quickly. “It is only, skinning a man would surely take so much time out of your day, and the echoes of his screams would fill the whole castle,” she said with distaste, perfectly aware that her husband had a reputation to keep up. She would not be seen as a weakness, if (or perhaps when) this Robin Hood spread the word of having escaped a skinning. “And the children don't really need to be terrified by such screams, not when they're already anticipating being turned into leather for your breeches,” she quipped with a sidelong glance at her husband.

Rumple smiled at her for the quip, giggled at it even, and with a snap of his fingers the bow and quiver of arrows vanished from the hands of Robin Hood.

“Get you gone,” Belle advised him shortly.

The would-be thief didn't need telling twice.

Rumple turned to his wife with a curious expression on his face. A smile, but an enquiring one.

“That was rather well handled of you my dear,” he said. “But I do wonder at why I should have to let him go at all.”

“Harry,” Belle answered simply. “There's no way you could have hidden from him the screams of a man being skinned alive in the castle. I admit, I wasn't looking forward to the prospect myself, but mostly to spare Harry.”

Rumple nodded in acceptance. “And I did make a deal with his mother that he'd be raised well. Hearing tortured screams wouldn't really fit that, I suppose,” he allowed.

“No,” Belle agreed. “It wouldn't. Well, I think that is really enough excitement for me for the evening. With your permission, my husband, I will retire for the night.”

Rumple chuckled, and quickly captured her hand to raise to his lips once more. “Permission granted,” he agreed.

Belle smiled back, kissed his cheek, and with the company of the echoing whisper of her gown, left the room behind for the family wing of the castle.


	7. Chapter 7

“What are you doing?” Rumple asked when, upon using the time turner to bring himself and his lovely wife back to the library (which now contained _every_ book in the castle, save the one that was on Belle's bed-side table), she moved off immediately towards the stairs that would take her to the second story of the walls of books.

“Well, after last night, I think it might be pertinent to upgrade the security around here,” Belle answered. “And I know I saw something about 'protective wards' in some of those grimores.”

Oh, the grimores. Now that had been a fun excursion for them both. They had been the first books that had simply  _not opened_ , not until Rumple had started unweaving the security spells on the blasted things. And then the adventures had begun in spells that actually damaged the one who tried to read them.

Thankfully, Rumple's ability to fix physical damage to a person by way of magic was unsurpassable these days, and the potions of Harry's home world were also quite useful.

Particularly that time he'd opened a book and it had started spewing acid over his person, even eating away at bones. After the potions regime that had been required to recover from that, it was impossible to tell that he'd had to re-grow his ribcage and his left arm, which had been distinctly painful.

Belle hadn't left his side once that night. She'd mopped his brow and combed his hair and hummed softly to him until he slept.

He was actually still weighing the pros and cons of fixing his bad leg with the magic from Harry's world. Oh certainly his power as the Dark One meant that the injury no longer bothered him, but it was still there, and he was constantly reinforcing the leg with magic. His interesting little bow, with one leg stretched out before him, was particularly to be gentle on that leg. He didn't need to be as gentle now as he had used to, but still he preferred caution. Even (or perhaps particularly) after three centuries of living with it.

Hmm... could he incorporate some of the security measures on the books into the intended security measures around his home?

“There's the books about security curses as well, used by those Egyptian people,” Rumple offered her with a smile. He quite agreed with his lovely wife of course. They should improve the security of their home.

Rumple's smile widened into a delighted grin as he watched Belle pulling books off the shelf and just tossing them over the railing, at which point they vanished from the air in a puff of honey-brown mist and reappeared on the library table in a small explosion of the same. The transportation spell used on inanimate objects. It looked like she'd be having a large meal later – that spell always made Belle hungry. Fortunately for all involved, that sort of small magic didn't cost anything more than the energy of the one who used the spell.

And the books Belle had just 'tossed' down were on the Egyptian security curses and protective wards.

“Just remember that sometimes the desperate come to you for help, rather than calling out for 'The Dark One' in the middle of nowhere and hoping you'll appear,” Belle cautioned. “You wouldn't want business to drop off.”

Rumple giggled. “A very good point, sweetheart,” he agreed. “Maybe we'll have to ward against those with specific intent. Intent to steal, for example.”

“Not that you'd notice anything missing from your collection for a good few years unless you caught the thief in the act,” Belle quipped dryly.

“Oh, I'd notice a few things very quickly, I assure you,” Rumple countered easily.

“Even in the rooms you never go into?” Belle questioned.

“If an object is inherently powerful enough, I am simply aware of it, so long as it's in my domain,” Rumple answered.

“Good to know,” Belle murmured, a little stunned by that declaration. Stunned enough that she trod on the hem of the dress she was wearing that day and took a tumble over the balustrade.

Rumple caught her quickly, for only quickly would do in such a situation, and held her tight to him for a moment. He truly hadn't expected the moment of fear that set into his withered old heart when he saw her fall off the upper walkway.

When both of them had caught their breath after the fright, Belle was the one to speak first.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I- I haven't been that clumsy for years.”

“It is certainly the most incredible thing I have ever seen from you,” Rumple said as he gently set her back onto her own feet. “You should not be able to trip on a hem that is four inches above your ankles.”

“Mama...” Belle started, then seemed to choke. But she persisted. “Before she died,” she said, which explained the choking after the title given. “Before my mother died, she teased me for my ability to trip over air itself. When she passed, Papa had my tutors teach me how to be graceful, like a princess should be, instead of clumsy like I was. With the expensive, expansive dresses I was being forced into, those lessons were kind of important if I didn't want to break my own nose.”

“And since your nose is still so delightfully shaped, I must suppose that you succeeded rather well, dear Belle,” Rumple offered, and gently tapped the tip of said sniffer.

Belle giggled. “Until today I did,” she agreed. “I guess I was just going too fast. I found that was the trick. Don't go rushing about, and no one gets hurt.”

Rumple had to laugh at that one, and then they both moved to the table and the books that Belle had pulled out.

Within the hour, they had set up a ward that ensured anybody approaching the castle door had to come on foot. Any horses, coaches, or carriages would need to be left at the gate. Flying carpets would fail, and it was impossible to just magically appear within the castle – unless, of course, you were Rumplestiltskin, Belle, or Harry.

That evening, after Harry was in bed, Rumple explained to Belle that, as they now had a way to get her to safety from any situation, she was both safe to travel and free to do so at her leisure – and there would be times when Rumple would send her out on a particular errand, making sure that everything in the Enchanted Forest was the way that he knew it needed to be.

For all that Rumple was the Dark One, he supplied rather a large number of happy endings to the population at large, and now Belle would be assisting him in that.

~oOo~

It has been established that sound carries very well in the Dark Castle. With only three people living there (the dogs are kept in the kennels, the horses in the stables, and the owls in the mews), the castle is generally a very quiet place. Apart from Harry's games and lessons in music and dancing.

So, when Belle gave a startled yelp one day while dusting, Rumple and Harry both heard her from the other end of the castle, where Rumple had been showing Harry how to spin (just normal woollen yarn, not straw into gold). Both of them shared a quick look that was a silent, mutual agreement that the lesson could wait. Belle might need help.

She was a perfectly capable young woman, with a good sized collection of tricks up her sleeve (magical and not, as after all, she has also been teaching Harry to use a sword in their games), but she is still Belle, and she is theirs, and they are man-types and protective of her. Regardless of if she actually needs protecting or not.

“Belle?” Rumple called in worried concern as he rushed through the open doors of the room where she was, and took both of her hands in his. “Belle, are you alright?” he asked.

“It moved,” she said, turning wide, shocked eyes on him.

“What did, sweetheart?” he pressed gently.

“The picture,” Belle answered, her gaze shifting from her husband's face to the wall behind him.

Rumple turned, and was himself surprised to see the portrait give him a sheepish wave.

“Magic, okay, yes, but I've still got to know, how does that even work?” Harry asked plaintively as he looked between the animated paint and his Aunty and Uncle.

“I'm afraid that the painters of magical portraits are very secretive about their craft,” the painting said apologetically. “So I really couldn't tell you. They actually had me sleep through most of my sitting.”

“It talked,” Belle said, her voice low.

Rumple was watching her carefully, concerned that this might be something a little too much for her. In all the years she had lived in the Dark Castle... animated and vocal portraiture was definitely new. He hadn't known himself, though he vaguely recognised them as something else that he'd taken from Harry's home world.

“Though I understand that magical photography is much more simple,” the portrait continued. “Of course, those pictures don't talk, or really interact properly like a portrait will. They just move a bit.”

“Pho-to-gra-phy?” Harry repeated, carefully sounding out the strange word. “What's that?”

“Some of the smaller frames in this room have photographs instead of painted portraits,” the painted figure supplied. “I don't really know much about the art myself. It was a new thing when I was old, so I never learned much. I did appreciate the pictures though. Now, it suddenly occurs to me that we have all quite forgotten our manners. I'm Ethel Potter, pleased to meet you all, especially you,” she added to Belle. “Since you came in carrying that duster. Too much dust on the portrait, and we just go to sleep. Then again, some of the portraits I can see in this room are rather unpleasant characters, so letting them be buried in dust is no great loss.”

That was the day that Harry met his great-grandmother, and a whole new avenue of study opened up to them. The next day, Belle found a pair of books on photography among those that had come from Harry's home world, and even found a camera and figured out how to use it. She took a picture of Harry with the dogs, showed him how to take a picture of her, and hunted down her husband to take a picture of him.

“Whatever do you want to do that for Belle?” he grumbled as he hurried to sit behind his spinning wheel.

“Well, so far the only way you have figured out to reach your son is that curse, and I rather think that you will look like a normal man in a world without magic. If it ever changed, then I should miss your face as it is right now, though I am certain I would adjust,” Belle answered with a cheeky smile, then raised the camera and took a picture of her husband's expression of wonderment, as he stared up at her from his seat.

Once Belle had developed the pictures according to the process outlined in the books, she framed each one, and set them together on the mantle over the fire in the dining room.

~oOo~

“What is this?” Belle asked as she picked up a small red rock that was in the 'miscellaneous treasures' room. The things Rumple had that didn't really mean much (or anything) to him, and wouldn't ever likely be useful in a deal.

Rumple blinked at the question and rose from his seat by the wheel. At some point, he had started moving his secondary spinning wheel about the castle, generally into one of the rooms that Belle would be cleaning, so that he could watch her clean their home from his position behind the turning spokes of the wheel. Perhaps not the best view, since she had whole rooms to clean and was only directly on the other side of the wheel for a limited amount of her cleaning.

On the days when he taught Harry how to spin, the wheel was back in its usual place, the same great room where they all spent their evenings quietly together, but Harry didn't sit and spin with him every day, far more often he went outside to spend time with his dogs. Rumple tried not to think of himself as following Belle around their home like the puppies followed Harry around.

Rumple stopped by Belle's shoulder and frowned at the little stone in his wife's hand. For such an innocuous thing, it really was quite powerful.

“Here,” he requested, and held out a hand for it.

With the other, he conjured a very specific book out of his laboratory and into his hold. A book that he didn't use often for the simple reason that it was far too much like cheating. All magic had a price, he said that often enough, but more true than that was that _everything_ had a price. The price for the acquisition of knowledge was research, attentiveness in lessons, willingness to learn and experiment... this book skipped over that price, and Rumple was just glad that he had not been the fool to make it.

He touched the stone to the front cover of the book, watched as the book glowed for a moment, then replaced the stone in its place and opened the book that would now tell him everything there was to know about the object he had just touched to its cover.

“Apparently it's called the Philosopher's stone,” Rumple read out for her. “Able to turn any metal into gold, and create an elixir that will, if ingested daily, prevent death of the body by any natural causes. It doesn't slow ageing, and if not taken regularly then infirmity will cause the person to expire. Rather a slip-shod thing, I think,” Rumple quipped as he snapped the book shut again, dismissed it back to his lab with another gesture, and turned his eyes once more to the bit of rubble that was in his home. “I'm sure I could improve it.”

“I thought 'dead was dead',” Belle said cautiously.

Rumple waved a hand dismissively. “I'm not talking about making a potion to revive people, but something that would only need to be taken once, something that would slow the ageing process. I have the curse of being the Dark One to keep me alive and ageless through the centuries. You, my dear, have blossomed from a gangly teen-aged girl into a woman over the few short years you have been here, and I confess I have become both accustomed to your company and fond of your presence in my home.”

Belle blushed at that, and lowered her eyes in a shy, demure fashion. “I rather like being here with you as well,” she offered sincerely.

Rumple sighed sadly. “But you can't be for much longer,” he informed her.

“What?” Belle gasped.

“Things are speeding up,” Rumple divulged. “Coming to a head. Princess Snow White is of age, and has just today met her True Love, though they've many things to do first, it still won't take more than a year, maybe two, before Regina will cast the curse I made. I don't want you or Harry caught up in that, but rather to come and find me in the world without magic when the final battle is to begin.”

Belle sighed, turned, and wrapped her arms around her husband. “Please promise me you will be careful,” she requested. “Harry and I will be safe in his world from the curse, I know that you've made sure of it, but...”

Tentatively, Rumple raised his arms to wrap about Belle's waist. “I've calculated it all very carefully,” he said. “Maleficent holds the curse, and will neither cast it, nor give it up willingly. She understands the danger of it. Regina doesn't know how to cast it. Not fully. She will have to come to me for that information. I will be able to secure a number of concessions from her in a deal for that information. Information I will not give until and unless I have made certain that the curse can be broken.”

“I thought the trick with breaking curses was True Love,” Belle quipped into his chest. “That seems to work with everything else.”

“Yes,” Rumple said, and his voice rose to that high, near-mocking voice he so often used to rile up those who were making deals with him. “Twoo Wuv,” he sneered in that special tone of his. “The trick is in the application Belle,” Rumple informed her as he stroked her back, her face still buried in his vest. “True Love's Kiss to break a sleeping curse, child born of True Love to use True Love's Kiss, but of a different sort, to break the curse that will end all things... but first the child has to be born from True Love... and... maybe I can bottle a little of the stuff. Should come in handy. If I can bottle love, I should be able to do anything.”

“I thought those love potions offended you,” Belle said with a weak chuckle.

“They do,” Rumple confirmed. “They rob a person of their free will. That's not bottled love, sweetheart, that's bottled evil, and I've already got a little box full of evil.”

“What?” Belle gasped, pushing herself back – though not out of his arms – to stare at his face in shock.

“Oh no Belle,” Rumple assured her gently. “I merely made a deal for the box. It will suck into it any person, being, or magic that I desire, and will release them on command as well. It's a far older thing than I am.”

Belle relaxed again. “Sounds useful,” she allowed. “Apart from, you know, it being full of evil already.”

“Indeed,” Rumple agreed.

“Rumple,” Belle said softly. “Would... would True Love's Kiss break _your_ curse?” she asked – and she felt her husband go tense in her arms.

“Why are you asking Belle?” he countered lowly.

“Because I know how important it is that you be the Dark One,” she began, “and because... if kissing you would make you an ordinary man again, then I won't do it. I'm still kind of trying to figure out how it could be True Love though, if a kiss would change a person in such a dramatic way.”

“Ah,” Rumple said, and now he relaxed again. “Belle, magic is about emotion, about intent. Yes, some curses have the specific clause to be broken by True Love's Kiss, and it is a fairly safe action to take in response to most curses. You... do not want to change me,” he observed cautiously, as though stunned by that particular revelation. “So, I suspect that I would not be greatly altered. Likely the dark whisperings in my mind would fade, and the control to be had over me by the dagger would break, and little else. We're not going to test it though,” he said firmly, wagging a finger in her face.

Belle smiled back. “No,” she agreed. “Of course we're not going to test it. At least,” she amended, “not until after you've told Regina how to cast the curse. It wouldn't matter much by then, after all.”

Rumple chuckled at that. “I'd still like to have magic in the world that is without it,” he confessed, “but that would just be a wedge between me and Bae. He's never cared for magic, for what I became when I gained magic.”

“Rumple, you've been wielding magic for three-hundred years,” Belle pointed out. “My main concern is that if I broke your curse, I wouldn't recognise your face afterwards, and then how would the rest of the Enchanted Forest know you were the Dark One? I'm sure you have learned enough magic by now to still be able to use it, even after your curse is broken.”

Rumple smirked. “Clever girl,” he purred. It was his most common praise for her. “I dare say you're right.”


	8. Chapter 8

“This is it,” Rumple said softly at dinner.

The tension in the castle had been building for some time. An awareness that all three of them shared of what was going to come. A month before, an owl had come from Harry's home world, inviting him to the school his parents had both attended. Tonight, after their meal, Rumple was to meet with a girl he had helped raise from being a maid to being a princess. She wished to discuss the terms of their deal.

Looking to renegotiate.

Rumple knew what awaited him, and he did not look forward to it, but he knew that it was both inevitable, and where he needed to be, to see things through as they must go. Certainly he would be able to leave the prison the girl would 'trick' him into, despite the protections that would be layered upon it. That did not make it any more desirable that he should be placed in such a cage at all, and that he would need to be present in it at certain times.

“We're packed,” Harry supplied, his voice just as soft as Rumple's had been.

“And everything else has been secured the way you said,” Belle added, damn near melancholy.

Rumple had managed to bottle True Love, using hairs from Snow White and her prince. Belle had imitated his procedure with a hair from her own head and his. Rumple had been both surprised, and deeply touched, to see _their_ hairs entwine with one another in the same way. Belle would be taking this extra bottle of True Love with her.

Rumple had also made the elixir, the one that would slow the ageing process down so dramatically that, curse or no curse, he and Belle would still have centuries together. She'd had just a small sip, and the rest was put away, just in case Rumple himself should need it when they were reunited.

They had also – very carefully – constructed an object that would alter the relative passage of time, based on the time-turner. One did not age through the same hour twice, even though one lived it through use of the time-turner. This was the principle that they'd started with.

From speaking with the various portraits from Harry's world, they understood that the boy's Hogwarts education would last seven years. Rumple knew that the needed child would not come to break the curse until she was twenty-eight. For as long as the device they had fashioned worked – and it was one-use only – every year that passed on Harry's home world, three would pass in all the other realms. Including the one without magic, where Rumple was to be sent to.

Still, Harry and Belle would have to wait longer yet after his education was finished before they could join Rumple. Rumple had two years in a cell to look forward to before the curse would actually be cast, and he was insistent that Harry should know more of his world than just the school there. Belle and Harry would be away from Rumple for ten years to equate his thirty.

“Beware the man called Dumbledore, drink a tea made with a beozar and rose leaves after every meal you did not prepare yourselves -” this, Rumple had figured out, was a tincture that would nullify _all_ potions that were listed in _Moste Potente Potions_ , from love potions, to poisons of the worst sort, and even to healing potions that had not completed their task. Didn't work on straight venom or against allergens though, which was annoying. “- collect useful tokens from any and every source you can, and... and you will face one called Tom Marvolo Riddle. He calls himself by another name, and seeks your death, Harry. You must capture him, capture him in Pandora's Box, where I have already put the rest of him. He will be needed... when... I... cannot see,” he admitted, and sagged in his chair, his hands falling from where he had raised them, so that he could feel out the future, offer guidance to his family – and that more useful than had been given to him by the Seer girl he'd taken the power from. “Remember that all magic has a price,” he reminded them firmly. “All magic, _all_ , and the greater the magic, the dearer the price.”

Belle reached out to take one of Rumple's hands in her own, and squeezed it affectionately, sadness in her eyes as she drank in the image of him.

She was taking with her the photograph of her husband when they left. She wished that she had a proper portrait of him, the kind that would speak to her like the portraits from Harry's world. Belle knew that she would miss the voice of her husband; his accent, his particular turn of phrase, his laugh and his wit. She had lived with him for seven years, and she had found True Love with him in that time.

Now she was about to endure seven years, and a few more, without him. She could not even taste his lips in farewell, for to share True Love's Kiss with him was to risk breaking the curse of the Dark One upon him. A curse he still had need of.

When dinner was cleared away, Rumple tucked Harry into bed. The boy was old enough now that, most nights, he objected to being tucked in. This would be the last time he saw his Uncle Rum for ten years though. The goodnight hug was tight, tears were silently shed, and Rumple placed a kiss on the child's brow before he snuffed all but one candle in the room, that last candle kept safe by the glass covering.

It was very much like the first night Belle had come to the Dark Castle.

Unlike that first night, however, Belle caught Rumple's hand when he closed the door of Harry's room and turned to her.

“I want to make a deal with you, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle said formally, her voice was soft though, as she was choking back tears of her own as she clutched tightly to his hand.

“What deal?” Rumple asked gently.

“Give me a farewell kiss before you leave tonight,” she requested.

“And in exchange?” Rumple pressed, even as he wrapped his free hand in her brown curls and stepped so close to her that their bodies brushed up against each other with every indrawn breath.

“When we are reunited, I will kiss you in greeting,” Belle answered.

Rumple smiled down at her, his expression warm and his eyes dark and soft. “Deal,” he agreed.

Slowly, Rumple placed a kiss on Belle's brow. He softly kissed each closed eyelid. With greatest tenderness he kissed away the tears that fell on each of her cheeks.

“Fare well, my darling Belle,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear, his lips kissing the skin there with each word. “I love you, my most precious, my wife.”

“I love you Rumplestiltskin, my most precious, my husband,” she answered, and held his hand in hers all the more tightly. “Fare well, and I will treasure in my heart the anticipation of the day we will be together again.”

And then he was gone, away to let himself be 'tricked' and captured, all so that he could ensure that they would be able to find his son, a plan he had been constructing with greatest care since before they two had ever met.

~oOo~

It was a solemn pair that shared breakfast in the kitchen, rather than in the dining hall as they had when there was three. Silently, already desperately missing the company of their eldest member, the duo collected the magically enhanced trunks that they had packed, the cage that held the most senior (and most thoroughly enchanted) of the family of owls that Rumple had so diligently trained, and transported themselves to Harry's home world.

To a place that the portraits had all confirmed was the best place to begin in this new land: a place called Diagon Alley.

“Come on Harry,” Belle bid softly, and took his hand in hers. “We have shopping to do.”

“At least we don't look too out of place,” Harry offered as they walked down the Alley towards the bank, where they would be granted access to the vaults of Harry's family.

Belle gave the boy a weak smile. She had worried that the clothes she had made, altered from their own things to more resemble that which was worn by the witches and wizards in the portraits, would be out of date. The clothing styles in the Enchanted Forest had changed much since Rumple was a man, and many of the portraits were just as old – if not older – than he was.

Eventually, the pair crossed the threshold of the bank, passing the outer doors of burnished bronze and the guards that stood by them, to approach the silvered doors within.

“Uncle Rum would like that,” Harry murmured to Belle, nodding towards a poem that was engraved upon those silver doors.

“'Those that take, and do not earn, must pay most dearly in their turn',” Belle read. It was not the first line of the poem, and certainly not the last, but it was the sentiment that she was certain had caught Harry's eye to make that comment. “Yes,” she agreed. “I think that your Uncle Rum _would_ like that.”

“Aunt Belle, we can't say his whole name here, can we?” Harry asked rhetorically. “He'd come, and he might miss being caught in the curse that will take him to the world where his son is.”

“That's right,” Belle agreed. “We can't. I'm going to tell people his name is William, and we call him 'Rum' because you couldn't say his name right when you were little.”

Harry nodded his understanding, and they passed on through the silver doors to where goblin tellers sat on high chairs behind high desks and worked with large books.

Really, they didn't need much from the list that Hogwarts had sent to Harry. They already had all the books he needed. There had actually been multiple copies of many of them, and Rumple had burned the extra copies for safety reasons after making sure every relevant side-note from the books was written down in the single copy of each book that they kept. Harry had chosen a wand from the very large selection available to him, likewise he'd picked out a nice telescope from the collection Rumple had. It seemed that his payment from Lily had included all of the past school supplies of all those related to Harry. The boy had also taken the brass scales from the kitchen back at the Dark Castle, and he suspected he had a larger collection of vials than the 'one set' required of him.

They just had to buy his uniforms and a cauldron. In seven years, Rumple had used every cauldron he'd collected in his fee, learning the potions of Harry's world and carefully modifying them, experimenting. Cauldrons had melted, exploded, collapsed, crumbled... there was a reason that Rumple (and Belle, and Harry) much preferred to make potions in glass vessels, where reactions could be far more clearly seen. Two, if one counted heavy-metal poisoning as well – which was why they weren't used in the kitchen at all, _ever_.

Still, for experimenting with, the pewter cauldrons that wouldn't be otherwise used worked well enough. But there were none left, and one was required for Harry to use at Hogwarts.

~oOo~  
  


The ride down to Harry's vault had been... fun. The ride back up to the surface no less so, and Belle had done something no witch or wizard would have believed – she had gotten a goblin to smile, and that just by being her charming self. But that visit was completed, and there was shopping to be done.

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions had been recommended to them by Griphook, the goblin who had taken them down to Harry's vault in that wonderfully fast cart of his, and so that was where they began.

Neither Harry nor Belle knew if it was Madam Malkin herself who greeted them, but the squat woman dressed all in mauve had the air about her of one who owns the shop they work in.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she asked with a smile. “Got the lot here, and another young man being fitted up just now, if you care to join him.”

“That will be fine,” Belle agreed. “Thank you.”

Harry and Belle followed the woman to the back of the shop, where a boy who looked to be about the same age as Harry, and who had a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool, having a set of black robes pinned around his person by another woman.

Harry was urged up onto a similar stool beside the boy, and Belle took a seat to the side, content to watch – and supervise Harry's first ever interaction with a person his age who wouldn't shy away from him for being the ward of the Dark One. After all, no one here knew of that connection.

Before either boy could speak a word to the other though, the woman in mauve slipped a robe over Harry's head, and started pinning.

“Hello,” the pale boy greeted, and seemed to be speaking to relieve tedium, rather than because he actually wanted to make friends. “Hogwarts too?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

“My father's next door buying my books, and my mother's up the street looking at wands,” the boy said. “Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own brooms. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow,” he declared.

“Not even started school and already planning to break the rules,” Harry quipped, and decided that he didn't think much of the other boy. A child that would bully his father, break rules, without a thought... no, Harry did not think much of this boy at all.

Neither did Belle as she listened on.

“Do you have your own broom?” the boy asked.

“I don't,” Harry replied.

“Play Quidditch at all?” the boy pressed.

“I don't care for it,” Harry said frankly – and was glad of there being a painting of a Quidditch game among all the others, so he knew what the game looked like, and thanks to commentary from a few of the portraits that surrounded it, he knew how the game worked.

“I do,” the boy declared, apparently not the least bit concerned that Harry was speaking in such a way that indicated his distaste for his conversation partner. “Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House team, and I have to say I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?”

“No,” Harry said. “And I don't see that it much matters,” he added, though he was aware from conversations with portraits that the distinction of which House one had been in at Hogwarts was something that seemed to define the culture of the magical community in this realm.

“Of course it matters,” the boy said, “though I suppose no one really knows what House they'll be in 'til they get there. But I know I'll be in Slytherin,” he added, and there was just the slightest modulation to his tone to indicate some pride in this statement. “All our family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff!” he exclaimed. “I think I'd leave,” he said with a sneer. “Wouldn't you?”

“No,” Harry said again. “I think being welcomed into a House that values loyalty, hard work, and equality rather appeals to me.”

He had certainly enjoyed learning about his family history with the various Houses from the portraiture Rumple had collected. He had relatives who had attended Hogwarts in every one of its Houses, and each one of them had their own praises to sing over the House they had been sorted into.

Right now though, he was enjoying the slightly horrified look on the other boy's face, and the amused smile that was spread across Belle's.

~oOo~

According to what the goblins had told them, the ancestral Potter Family estate had been raised to the ground before Harry's parents had been killed. Death Eaters had descended upon it and killed the parents of James Potter, and with their passing, Harry's father had emptied the estate into the the family vault (and those things had all found their way to the Dark Castle when Rumple came for his price) and had the rest of the building destroyed.

The house where James and Lily had lived had been half-destroyed the night they died, and had been turned into a monument to the 'war'.

Belle would need to secure lodging somewhere new. Somewhere that she could live for the next ten years. A place that would not be too big when Harry was at his school and she was alone, and yet at the same time not too small for when he was home – and particularly there would need to be room to entertain, as Belle was certain that both of them would make some friends during their time in this realm.

So, they were house-hunting, renting a set of rooms at the Leaky Cauldron until they could find somewhere more permanent.

The day before Harry was to take the train to Hogwarts, Belle decided on a place.

“Aunty Belle, it's a ruin,” Harry objected. “You can't live there!”

“I'm going to buy one of those caravans to live in while I fix it up,” Belle answered. “But I'm going to need something to keep me busy while we're here, and for all that it's a mess, it... it reminds me of home, just a bit. I think it could be beautiful.”

Harry sighed. He didn't doubt that. Not for a second. The frontage of the place was superb. The problem was that anything not stone in the place wasn't stable, and even some of the stone was in less than perfect condition. And there were a few outer walls missing.

But, it wasn't like they were going to hurt for money any time soon. Belle had brought with them _all_ of the gold that Rumple had spun, and the goblins were quite happy to give them any currency they wished in exchange for the appropriate amount of glittering thread. They could afford to buy the place, and they could afford to fix it up.

Besides, if Belle started to struggle, there was magic.

Harry sighed and capitulated.

Belle smiled, and signed the papers (using the name Isobelle Potter, which was her 'legal name' in this world, thanks to the goblins) that made her the owner of Lennox Castle.

Neither one of them admitted it, but part of the draw of the place was the way in which their neighbours spoke. They had the same accent in Glasgow as Rumple did. It would be the closest Belle would get to hearing _his_ voice for the next ten years.

It wasn't like Belle didn't have experience with caring for castles, after all. She'd been trained to the task of understanding the sorts of maintenance (and costs of that maintenance) when living with her father in his, and she'd learned a great deal more in practical terms while living with Rumple. It would keep her busy, and she needed to be busy. Besides, Hogwarts Castle was in Scotland, for all that Harry would be catching the train from London. Living at the castle in Glasgow would let Belle be near by, roughly, in the event that she needed to hurry there for him. Not that distance was really an issue, even if she'd been on the other side of the world.


	9. Chapter 9

Platform nine and three-quarters, King's Cross Station. It was quite busy with children who were going off to Hogwarts, parents who were sending them, and a great scarlet steam engine was at rest, waiting for its passengers. If it weren't for the month they had spent in this realm, then it would have been like nothing either of them had ever seen.

Well, there had been a motorcycle in the coach house, but as none of them had known really what to do with it despite the various books that described how it worked, it had never been used. The scarlet steam engine was a bit different to a motorcycle anyway.

Cats of every colour, owls hooting unhappily in their cages, and the ebb and flow of excitement and tears in every direction.

“Let's find you a seat, and stow your trunk,” Belle said firmly.

Harry nodded silently.

This parting would not be easy for either of them.

Belle took one end of Harry's trunk in one hand, Harry took the other end of the trunk with both of his, and Belle picked up the cage with their owl. Between them, they got the trunk safely lodged, the owl settled, and then...

“You'll write to me, won't you?” Belle asked him softly.

Harry nodded. “I promise,” he answered solemnly. “And we'll be able to communicate through mirrors,” he added.

Belle smiled a little at that. Rumple had taught them of mirror magic, but due to his having taught it to Regina already, they hadn't been able to really practice it while they lived in the Enchanted Forest. More than that though, there had been a set of little mirrors that were covered with enchantments for communication among the trove that Rumple had taken. Belle and Harry had finally tested them a week into their stay in this world.

“You've got the map your grandfather's portrait told you about?” Belle checked.

Charlus Potter had been far more aware of his son's activities than James ever realised, and while he had been disappointed, he had been indulgent for his wife's sake.

Harry nodded again. “I'll find every hidden room and secret place there is,” he promised. “Even the ones that aren't on the map.”

“Be careful Harry,” Belle begged in a tearful, hoarse whisper.

“Excuse me,” a young voice called from behind Belle.

The pair both turned to look. A girl stood there, mouse-brown hair in a big, bushy mane around her face.

“I don't want to interrupt, but may I sit here?” she asked.

“Of course,” Harry agreed.

“Thank you. I'm Hermione Granger,” the girl said. “Pleased to meet you,” she added, looking between Harry and Belle both to let them know she was speaking to both of them.

“We're pleased to meet you too, Hermione Granger,” Belle answered with a smile. “I'm Belle, and this is Harry.”

The whistle sounded.

Belle sighed. “And I suppose I have to go,” she said sadly. She gave Harry one last, tight hug, planted a loving kiss on his forehead, received an equally loving kiss on her cheek from him, and with a last whispered 'good bye', she left the train.

“Are you and your mum from Australia?” Hermione asked. “That is her accent, isn't it? Australian?”

She wasn't the first to have made that observation. They'd decided very quickly that the best answer to give to that question was 'yes'. Explaining that Belle actually came from Avonlea wasn't worth the trouble it might cause. Though, all the years spent with Rumplestiltskin in his castle had altered her accent some. Still, most people in this realm recognised it as that.

“That's right,” Harry agreed. “But Belle's my aunt, not my mum.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Hermione said, clearly confused. “I just thought -”

Harry shook his head. “My mum and dad died when I was only one. My uncle from Glasgow took me in, and when I was three he married Aunty Belle, which is why my accent is somewhere between the two, and why hers isn't quite as straight-out Australian as it used to be,” he explained with a smile.

The train lurched into motion beneath them.

“Oh, I'm so excited to learn magic!” Hermione enthused. “My parents had been trying to figure out what was wrong with me for years, that I was making my toys do things on their own and getting books to float off the shelves. Learning that I was a witch was such a relief, and I've already learned all of our school books by heart.”

Harry smiled at her enthusiasm.

“What about you?” she asked.

Harry shrugged. “Well, Potter is an Ancient and Noble House in the British magical community,” he said. “I've known I was a user of magic pretty much all my life.”

“Potter? Wait, you're _Harry Potter_?” the girl asked, eyes wide. “I've read about you!”

Harry blinked. “You have?” he queried, surprised.

Hermione nodded. “I know all about you. I got a few extra books for background reading. You're in _Modern Magical History_ , and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ ,” she proclaimed.

“I can't think any book about me would be all that accurate,” he decided after a moment of thinking about what she'd just said. “And certainly you _don't_ know all about me,” he added. “You didn't know that I was raised by my uncle from Glasgow, after all, did you?”

It was Hermione's turn to blink in surprise, and her mouth fell open a bit.

“But perhaps, if you can put aside whatever nonsense those books say about me, we could be friends, and you can get to know more about me,” Harry offered gently.

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, and she swallowed tightly. “I'd like that,” she agreed softly, her brown eyes shining.

~oOo~

About midday, there was a tap on the door.

“Anything from the trolley?” asked a plumpish woman with grey hair and a warm smile.

“Thank you, but I've a packed lunch,” Harry answered, and turned to Hermione. “You?”

“Same,” Hermione agreed. “But could you tell us when we'll be reaching Hogwarts?” she asked the woman with the trolley.

“We'll reach the castle just a bit shy of dinner time,” the woman supplied, and then moved on to tap at the next compartment door.

Harry closed the door after her, and turned back to Hermione. “Now, where were we up to again?”

“The letter T,” Hermione replied.

“Ah, then, for T, I offer _theories_ ,” Harry said. “How many theories are there on how I survived that night, and what happened to Voldemort?”

“Two of each,” Hermione answered promptly. “To the first, one theory says that you have some innate power that did it, another says it was something to do with your mother's sacrifice. To the second, some say he was killed, others say he still lives. No one really seems to give it much further thought though. I offer _sorting_. Which House do you want to be sorted into when we get to Hogwarts?”

“I counter your _sorting_ with _suggestion_. I've heard all four praised to the sky and back again. And I've heard all four ridiculed into the depths of the earth and further. I have, at this point, no real preference,” Harry stated plainly, a smile dancing about his lips. “I offer _umbrage_. What is something that offends you?”

“There's a long list,” Hermione stated dryly.

Harry inclined his head. “I've got a list too, but I'm just asking for one something right now,” he countered easily.

The compartment door slid open.

Hermione frowned. “People who don't knock,” she said, clearly disgusted with their guests who had, indeed, opened the door without knocking and let themselves in.

It was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's, and he was in the company of two other boys who had unfortunately heavy-set features. The boy ascertained that Harry was, in fact, _Harry Potter_ and introduced his companions as Crabbe and Goyle, and himself as Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.

~oOo~

Belle was crying into her pillow in her new caravan when the owl silently flew in through the open window. It's clawed feet on her shoulder startled her out of her lonely sobs though, and she gratefully accepted the letter.

_Dear Aunty Belle,_

_I enjoyed the train ride, and the lunch you made me was delicious (but it always is, so that can be no surprise to you). I believe that Hermione Granger and I are now officially friends. Her parents are dentists, their family home is in Crawley, and their income is sufficient to allow the three of them (Hermione is an only child) to travel abroad for a few weeks each summer._

_The Hogwarts Castle frontage is not as impressive as the Dark Castle, or even Lennox Castle, actually, but it seems to make up for that by having more towers than anything else. Also, the staircases move. Apparently the place has had so many spells cast in it that magic has seeped into the very stones and granted a sort of sentience to the place. A wall might 'feel like' having a door one day. The door won't actually open or go any where though, and on certain days of the week you supposedly can sink into a foot-thick step up to your waist, while the staircase is moving._

_ I'm not sure if I believe these tales that the upper-year students are telling me, about the walls and the sinking stairs, but I  did see a staircase move already, so I know that to be true. _

_I have been sorted into the House of Hufflepuff, and share a dormitory room with three other boys. The first is Justin Finch-Fletchley, who has come from an affluent home in the non-magical world, and has elected to attend Hogwarts rather than Eton. After him is Wayne Hopkins, who only introduced himself beyond that as 'a half-blood' before he focused completely on his meal. The last of them is Ernest MacMmillan, though he prefers to be called 'Ernie', who has most likely come from a long line of magically gifted persons, if his knowledge of the Harry Potter Legend is any sort of evidence._

_Apparently, there was a bit of a furore when I vanquished Voldemort, disappeared – and rather a lot of the stockpiled treasures of the 'pure-bloods' vanished as well._

_Dumbledore said at the eventide meal that one of the castle's passage ways, on the third floor, was out of bounds for those not wishing to die a painful death. I think that was a rather stupid thing of him to say to a room full of teenagers, but I suppose he is duty-bound to warn his charges of any dangers in the castle. Not that there should be any at all, of course._

_I miss you, and Uncle Rum._

_Please remember to eat well and take care of yourself. Who will keep up my dancing lessons, or be there for Uncle Rum, if you don't?_

_I love you._

_Harry._

_PS – do you think we could get a spindle like Uncle Rum's for the hall of Lennox? I know he taught you how to spin as well as me. It would be something to do when we miss him._

Belle smiled through her tears as she set the letter down. It would be the first of many she would receive throughout the year.

~oOo~

Eight months had passed since they had come to Harry's world. They'd enjoyed Christmas together at Lennox Castle. Of course, the castle was still surrounded by scaffolding and the repairs were nowhere near complete. They'd set up the tree in the front courtyard though, with heat-lamps all around, and invited friends to have a bit of a ball there – both Harry's friends from school, and the friends that Belle had made in Glasgow, most of whom, admittedly, were the men who she contracted to help her clear the refuse out of the castle and their families.

But still, friends.

Now, Belle was sitting in the caravan, slogging her way through the bureaucratic forms and endless red tape, when she felt it.

A ripple of magic tore through her homeland. A power so strong and terrible that it severed her husband from his curse, at least for now. A force so great it was reaching out to her now from realms away and through differently-flowing time-streams, trying to drag her into its power as well.

She resisted.

Belle wasn't very powerful, not in any sense of the word, but this curse was meant to bring people from the Enchanted Forest to a world without magic. Belle, at present, wasn't in the Enchanted Forest to be taken from it. Still, the curse was strong and tried to tug at her, but this far, and across the time-slip, it was not able to move her any more than a few steps.

And then it stopped.

The curse was complete. Her husband was now in a world without magic, and his memory of his son, of Harry, and of her were gone, irretrievable until the Saviour came.

Belle fought back tears. She had known this would happen. It was why she was in Harry's world in the first place. Belle knew she was likely to cry herself to sleep again that night, but for now, she had forms to fill out still, though there was also a cup of tea calling her name.

~oOo~

Albus Dumbledore was frustrated as the school year came to a close. At the beginning of the year, it had been ten years since he last had any word on Harry Potter, but he'd still been sure he could keep his plans on track. Things had been a bit messy for a while when a lot of people suddenly were left with only their homes, their clothes, and their gold. Not a single piece of furniture, not a broom or quill, not a single book was left in many family libraries, and quite a few that Dumbledore had appropriated over the years for the Hogwarts library had vanished as well.

Even wands had gone missing. Dumbledore had been  _ extremely _ distressed when both his own wand, and the Elder Wand, had simply vanished.

Only the muggle-borns had been unaffected, and they'd called that day 'the great equaliser', as it stripped the purebloods of everything but their positions and their gold. Their houses were empty of even the most basic things. Many had woken up as their beds vanished out from underneath them – they'd needed to spend quite a bit of their gold to re-furnish their houses.

Even Flamel had been affected, and very little touched the ancient Alchemist these days. But his life-giving stone was gone along with everything else in his house.

Dumbledore had planned to use that stone during Harry's first year under his thumb. Had intended that with the stone in Hogwarts, Voldemort would come, and Albus could test his theory as to the protection that Lily had most certainly given the boy. To say nothing of testing the boy himself, but that went without saying.

With no stone, there was no bait. With no bait, there was no trap or testing ground. He'd had to fake it.

Well, the fake bait had worked, as had the trap, but Harry Potter hadn't gone anywhere near the test, with the exception of that one time a moving stairway had stopped in front of the locked door, and in that case Harry had simply gone down the stairs away from it. The boy seemed to have no sense of adventure or curiosity.

A Hufflepuff! He hadn't made friends with the Weasley boy as intended, though his connection with the Granger girl could have been useful – that girl had a thirst for knowledge Albus hadn't seen for some time – but she was altogether too much a stickler for the rules. She'd never go exploring after curfew.

And the boy had happily gone home for Christmas! He should have been in Hogwarts over the holiday! Albus had set him with the Dursleys for a reason, after all. So that he'd compare the magical world to the muggle one and love the former to the extent of being willing to sacrifice himself to protect it!

But no, that hadn't worked out. Really, the only thing he'd accomplished was that he'd confirmed his belief, once and for all, that Voldemort wasn't dead.

~oOo~

Belle recognised that she needed to know more than simply how to maintain a castle, if she was going to get any more of Lennox fixed up. Harry had left yesterday for his second year at Hogwarts, and the outer stonework of the castle was finally (if only just) finished. Well, the crumbled walls had been rebuilt. The castle was still missing parts of its roof, a number of windows, and was ultimately still an empty shell of a building.

Belle enrolled herself at Glasgow University, using paperwork she had paid the goblins for, and started taking courses in architecture and civil engineering. That would take up a few years, and until she understood everything for herself, she'd hired another architect to help her with Lennox Castle.

Another thing that Belle was doing was learning to adapt to a land without magic. Oh, yes there was magic in this world, but it was hidden. In the Enchanted Forest everyone from the lowliest peasant to the greatest king knew that they could, if desperate enough, call on the Dark One or the Reul Ghorm – though the former was actually more likely to answer than the latter – and get a magical solution to their problems. Here, only about a fifth of the population knew that magic existed, and they kept that a closely-guarded secret.

It was a dual world. A place where most believed there was no magic, but despite that belief, there was. It was a very useful place to be.

Belle had quickly learned how to ride a push-bike, had recently mastered the motorcycle, and was learning to drive a car. She was now enrolled at the university and, as well as the courses she was taking, Belle was learning how to use computers and other amazing technology.

~oOo~

_Dear Aunt Belle,_

_Last night I was invited by one of the ghosts of Hogwarts to his death-day party, and I met a ghost called Myrtle. She died when she was a student here fifty years ago. She was very pleased to tell me about how she died when I asked, and even showed me where it happened – though I admit I was initially a bit unsure about setting foot in a girl's bathroom. Apparently no one ever uses it though, due to her inhabitation of it._

_In any event, I found a secret passage way that is not on the map, and which only opens when I speak in the serpent tongue. I will be giving this passage a much more thorough investigation over the coming weeks._

_Also, I have concluded that Professor Lockhart is most certainly a fraud, and formally request a note from you to the faculty and headmaster giving me permission to not attend his class in preference to either a tutor or self-study. One of the girls in my year, Susan Bones – the red-haired girl who came to our Christmas party with her monocle-wearing aunt – says that she could recommend a tutor for the subject. Apparently her aunt works in magical law-enforcement, so I'd guess she knows what she's talking about there._

_I have also made friends with an odd little Ravenclaw first year student called Luna Lovegood. I found her wandering the halls on Saturday without her shoes on. She said that 'the nargles took them' when I asked about it, and I had to counter then that these nargles are clearly scurrilous thieves and should be horsewhipped for taking away the shoes of such a fair maiden. As I had met her coming into the great hall for lunch, this comment was overheard. In particular, it was overheard by Luna's Head of House, Professor Flitwick, and he quite agreed with me. Apparently, he is part goblin, and takes theft just as seriously as his relations who work at the bank._

_Luna's shoes had been returned to her by dinner time, and I understand that there are a number of older girls in her House who have now got detentions with Professor Flitwick for the rest of the month and have been stripped of certain privileges that only upper years have._

_Congratulations on getting through the latest pile of red tape, by the way. I think that, if we were actually going to make our lives here, then you should see about getting yourself onto the Heritage Council, with all the work you're putting in at Lennox._

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_Harry._

~oOo~

Belle set the latest letter from her nephew aside. Ghosts had been a shock to both of them the previous year. One of the rules of magic was that the dead could not be brought back from that state. Ghosts weren't exactly 'back', but they were certainly more animated than the usual dead person. And now Harry was making friends with one, it seemed.

That would be a story to tell Rumple when they were reunited.

But at least he also had friends among the living as well. Mostly students from his own House and year, but there were a few others. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor, and they maintained their friendship despite that slight separation, and now this Luna Lovegood girl, who was younger as well as in a different House. Belle looked forward to meeting her at Christmas, as Harry was certain to invite her.

As for Harry's ability to talk to snakes... well, that was something that they'd learned only when Belle and Harry had come to this world, and taken the time off to do something fun one day. They had gone on an excursion to the London Zoo, and Belle had watched her nephew carry on a conversation in a strange language, one that was soft and harsh at the same time, with one of the pythons. Harry swore up and down that he didn't even notice he was speaking anything other than the same language they'd always spoken, which in this world was called English.

Belle had made some enquiries about it with the goblins, sliding a nice, subtle skein of spun gold across the table to the one she was speaking with.

That goblin had, in turn, made a note on a piece of parchment and slid it across his work station to her. Written there was a book title, as well as the address of the shop where she could acquire said book.

Belle hadn't needed the address. She knew every book that had been in the collection at the Dark Castle. Every last one. They had that book, and had brought it with them when they came to this world, just as they had every other book that had originally come from Harry's world.

Parseltongue, the local magical population called it. The ability to speak to snakes. It wasn't something that was seen as positive in the UK though, not by any stretch. Never mind how useful it could potentially be, and never mind that it seemed to be something that was passed on genetically, like being a metamorphmagus – a person who could change their physical characteristics through will alone.

Belle set about the task of writing a note to excuse Harry from Lockhart's class, then a return letter on a separate sheet, and finally, on a third page, an inquiry that she could send to Madame Bones about a possible tutor to instruct her ward.

~oOo~

Exposed support beams, which would arch into each ceiling to offer a more sturdy base to the floor above. New glass for the window, made to current safety specifications, while fashioned in the original style to maintain the integrity of the site. Antique wooden everything – the wood itself restored by Belle's magic, as it was so very hard to find timbers of the right age that weren't half-rotted through.

All floors would be timber or stone. Belle had been introduced to the vacuum machine since her arrival in this world, and she didn't care for the noise it made. Sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, these were all fine, even if they could take such a long time. None of those would work on a carpeted floor though. Only a vacuum, or professional carpet steam-cleaners.

The walls and floors would be stained and varnished, rather than painted, which would give the castle a rich, warm feel with all of that exposed timber.

The Heritage Council agreed that she shouldn't have carpets on the floors. She would use rugs, mats and wall-hangings of various sorts to keep off the chill, just as had been done in the Dark Castle. They could be taken outside and beaten.

Now she just had to get them to agree to the rest as well. This restoration project was certainly taking up plenty of time. And effort. And money. All just as well. She already had too much time, and the struggles of the project kept her too busy to think over-long on how much she missed her husband.

And it certainly wasn't like money was an issue for her. She'd once commented to Rumple that he spun more straw into gold than anyone could spend in a lifetime – and she knew exactly how much gold some of the nobility could spend, even in just a day, could be ludicrous – and she'd brought all of that wealth with her.

Any time she needed more money, she took her gold thread to Gringotts and the goblins traded it for the currency used by the non-magical population. She was in no danger of running out, but she had certainly made a dent.


	10. Chapter 10

It had so far been a very interesting year. Harry was taking the elective courses in arithmancy and ancient runes – choices that they had discussed together as ones that were the most likely to be useful in a world without magic – as well as care of magical creatures, which would be far more use to him back home in the Enchanted Forest, but which he had been enjoying. Harry really did like animals; the dogs he'd played with growing up, and the owls that Rumple had enchanted, and the horses in the stables... Harry had adored them all. This class was simply an extension of that.

As well as the elective courses that Harry enjoyed, there had been a minor mystery in the case of the new defence professor when he was sick for a few days every month, like clockwork, and his class taught instead by the potions master – who was unpleasant but equally excellent a teacher. The new defence professor, Harry had learned (as no doubt intended by the potions master when he assigned the specific homework task) was a werewolf. The werewolves of this world though were a different sort than could be found in the Enchanted Forest. It didn't matter to Harry one way or the other though. Belle had met one, briefly, called Red, and they were friends. As for this man, Harry declared he was an excellent teacher.

And there was apparently a mass murderer on the loose. Oh, certainly the man had escaped from his prison cell, but Belle was always a curious one, and there had been many portraits of members of the Ancient and Noble Black among the collection. Most of them were fairly nice people, even, if extremely snobbish. One particularly  _ un _ pleasant one though had been Walburga Black, who was the mother of this supposed madman, and the spiteful woman had painted a very specific sort of picture of her eldest, unfavoured offspring.

Belle had investigated the man privately when she'd heard about him – and about the so-called 'security measures' that the Ministry of Magic had set up around the school. She had not been at all impressed.

“ _Aunt Belle!”_

Harry's voice reverberated through her mind, calling her name and taking her completely by surprise. After all, he was due back from Hogwarts in only two days. What could possibly be so urgent that he was calling her name?

Well, only one way to find out. Belle went.

Her eyes widened in shock as a long-limbed, hairy body with its head bent back, howling to the full moon above, suddenly turned on her where she had appeared by Harry's side – there along with Hermione, a red-haired boy that Belle didn't know, a man who fit Harry's descriptions of the potions master of the school, and another man who Belle recognised from the wanted posters. The potions master was between the worrying spectacle and the teenagers, while Black had just transformed himself into a large black dog and was stalking up to the misshapen form, growling lowly.

“Aunt Belle!” Harry cried in relief.

She set her features firmly in concentration and raised a hand. With a flick of her wrist, she cast her magic out like a net and the unfortunately formed beast was frozen in the early stage of a motion clearly intended to pounce, as though on prey. The large black dog that had moments before been Sirius Black was also frozen, and in a similar position. From the angle, Belle guessed he'd been aiming to intercept the attack.

Belle rounded on her charge.

“I want an explanation,” she informed him. “And I want it  _ now _ .”

“What about them?” the red-haired boy asked nervously.

“They're not going anywhere,” Belle dismissed. “Harry, I'm waiting.”

“Sirius Black is innocent of having killed Peter Pettigrew and the twelve non-magicals in the street, of blowing up the street, and of betraying my parents to Voldemort. He is an animagus illegally, which is how he was able to escape from Azkaban. Up until about five minutes ago, we had Peter Pettigrew in chains, but when the full moon came out, Professor Lupin – who looks nothing like I'd expect a werewolf to look – transformed, and Pettigrew, who is an illegal rat animagus, made his escape,” Harry explained.

“Rather wish that I had a cloak like Red's for Mr Lupin,” Belle muttered to herself. “Now, what is that chill? It's nearly summer, and yet I can see frost creeping in around us.”

“Dementors,” Hermione squeaked, and moved closer to Harry.

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and raised his wand. “Expecto patronum!” he yelled out, and a great white light burst forth from his wand. A light that coalesced and solidified into the shape of a...

“An  _ elephant _ ?!” Hermione yelped.

“Looks like an African bull elephant,” Harry agreed, a little stunned himself. “It's... I've never gotten the spell to work that well before. It was always just a mist.”

“We're going to be studying that spell intensely Harry,” Belle warned him with a smile as they all watched the glowing pachyderm plough through the dementors that tried to bar their way, breaking the things on its tusks as easily as on the trees around them. “Very impressive,” she praised, and ruffled his hair fondly. “But right now I believe we should be returning to the castle, hmm?” she suggested, and made motions to urge everybody into movement. “I'm sure it must be nearly curfew. Oh yes, and you come along too,” she added, flicking her fingers at the dog.

Black was forcefully returned to his human shape, and though he stumbled at first, he did as he was told and followed them up to the castle in the wake of Harry's spell.

The creature that was Professor Lupin was left there, incapable of movement, and would remain so until dawn began to break.

They were met on their way to the hospital wing – the red-haired boy obviously had a broken leg, after all, and Belle wanted everybody looked over by the nurse, just in case – by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. The former raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of the group. The latter dropped his lower jaw and seemed about to start screaming.

Belle didn't let him get that far.

“Minister, Chief Warlock, as Regent of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, I formally request a full trial for Sirius Black, which was denied to him in the year of his incarceration, and has been denied to him since that time. I request also that he be administered with veritaserum during his trial. Furthermore, I  _ demand _ that the dementors be removed from Hogwarts grounds immediately, on the basis of their having attempted to  _ end _ the Potter line when they attacked a party that contained my nephew, the future Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter,” she said, every inch the queen she had originally been raised by her father and tutors to be. A commanding presence in the castle hallway. “Count yourselves lucky that I do not add charges against either of your persons for permitting such a scenario to be possible. I assure you, I am well within my rights to do so, and well within my rights to take you both for every last knut in your vaults.”

Dumbledore and Fudge both stared in shock at this petite woman with soft brown curls, glowing peach-coloured skin, and eyes as hard as ice in her face as she glared at them, making them both feel like scolded children only two feet tall.

That she was wearing a pant-suit (she'd just left another meeting with the Heritage Council when Harry called her) with black high-heels certainly didn't detract from the powerful presence she conveyed.

“For that matter, count yourselves lucky that I do not turn you both into snails this instant and leave you to be stepped on,” she added.

Behind her, Harry smiled. Turning a person into a snail was one of Rumple's favoured threats against Jefferson. He'd actually done it, once or twice, but the man remained unrepentant as ever, and Rumple had always changed him back before a full day had passed. Jefferson had Grace to look after, after all, and Rumple wasn't one to leave a child alone in the world.

“Y-yes, M-madam R-regent,” Fudge stammered, sweating in fear.

~oOo~

Harry had written to her about an event that was taking place at Hogwarts, and which had brought students from two foreign schools to visit. A competition called 'the Tri-Wizard Tournament', never mind that it could just as easily be three witches involved, and no wizards at all. He'd written that the names of those chosen to compete (by a magical cup) would be announced on the evening of October thirty-first. He'd even written to her about some of the funny mishaps of other students when they attempted to bypass the security measures that prevented anybody under the age of seventeen from entering their names.

So when Belle heard him mutter her name under his breath, calling her to him, at eight o'clock in the evening on that date, she knew something was wrong.

Belle took only the briefest of moments to make sure that she was dressed in attire she thought suitable to the situation she was likely stepping into, quickly used magic to alter her 'witch costume' into a much more intimidating and much less comical black-and-gold gown, and vanished away to Harry's side.

“What,” she enunciated carefully as she took in the chamber full of adults arguing, “is going on here?” she demanded in a calm, measured, dangerous voice that sounded a little bit like Rumple's had when he was annoyed with someone.

And though she had spoken lowly and softly, and though all the other adults were yelling spittle at one another, she was still heard over them all – and they all stopped arguing.

Those in the room who had met her earlier in the year, in relation to the Sirius Black matter – people such as Professor Snape, Albus Dumbledore, and a man called Ambrose Caine who had taken over the Department of International Cooperation within the Ministry of Magic after Barty Crouch had been removed for his involvement in Black's incarceration – all flinched at the sight of her.

The Potter Regent was as formidable a woman as the Longbottom Regent, though until the summer just so recently passed, she'd never shown to be such. There was something about her though, something that made people cower before her, even when she was not quite five-and-a-half feet tall.

As all the adults who knew her were too intimidated to answer her, it fell to one who had no idea who she was to do so. Ludo Bagman happily explained that Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire and, as such, he was bound by magical contract to compete, or else risk losing his magic.

“I didn't enter, Aunty Belle,” Harry insisted.

“I know you didn't,” she agreed gently. “But you're bound by contract now, so you must go through with it, or pay the price.”

“It iz outreageous,” complained the a woman of truly impressive stature, her accent one that Belle had learned to recognise as French. “'Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions.”

“Then I have a proposal,” Belle said, and smiled her best, most charming smile. “I will take Harry home and tutor him myself. I'll even extend the offer to a few of Harry's friends, so that we can have a fourth, independent 'school' competing. Of course, Harry and any students I take with me will, of course, return for anything related to the Tournament. I understand that, as a champion, Harry is guaranteed to pass all of his courses regardless.”

“Students from all three schools are staying here, Madam Regent,” Dumbledore said quickly. “I see no reason for you to take your ward home at this time.”

“In that case, Harry will compete as a second champion for Hogwarts, and receive all the same support and privileges that the other champions will receive,” Belle said firmly.

“Of course,” Ludo Bagman agreed affably.

“Well, now that that is all sorted, I would like to spend some time with my nephew and his friends before returning home for the night,” Belle requested as she settled a light, comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Ah, Madam Regent, if you don't mind me asking... how did you apparate through the wards around Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked, a little nervously.

Belle blinked in surprise at the question. “There are wards around Hogwarts?” she asked innocently.

Too innocently, Harry knew, but everyone else didn't know his aunt like he did.

~oOo~

Belle immediately wrote to the  _ Daily Prophet _ in regards to the laws about printing lies and claiming them to be truth. She was at the wand weighing ceremony (and had thoroughly enjoyed the stunned faces of all when Ollivander exclaimed over Harry using 'the Elder Wand'). She had specifically prohibited Rita Skeeter from having anything to do with herself or her nephew. The woman still spun a story about getting an interview with him where he cried about his dead parents.

She also reminded the staff of the paper that the Ancient and Noble House of Potter has controlling shares in their publication, so they'd better stick with printing facts,  _ or else _ . Belle honestly didn't care that Miss Skeeter no longer had a job after the editor of the paper got her letter.

Belle was most impressed with the way Harry flew past the dragon in the first task. She was delighted with the letters she received from Harry and Luna about the Yule Ball they attended – both of them thanking her for teaching Harry how to dance. She once more considered turning Albus Dumbledore into a snail for having tied students up at the bottom of the lake, and then asking the champions to swim down and rescue them –  _ in bloody February _ .

She was in complete agreement with the school's hospital matron on the matter, and that woman was beautifully verbose on the foolishness of such actions. She'd been similarly gifted towards oration after each champion had completed their trials against the dragons.

Then he vanished from the maze that is the third task, and Belle heard his voice in her head.

“ _Aunty Belle, I need Pandora's Box.”_

All she could think was 'shit' as she vanished from her seat in the stands. She stopped by their home only long enough to summon the object into her hands, and then she was off to where she  _ knew _ Harry to be.

~oOo~

It had been five years of hard work, paper work, study and slog, but Lennox Castle was finally finished, restored to its former glory and better. Belle had her Masters in architecture and civil engineering, with extra honours for what she's done with the castle that, over the construction period, slowly became the pride and joy of Glasgow, despite its history.

Harry had passed the half-way mark of his education, and they had also finally reached the half-way point of their stay in this realm. He'd captured Voldemort in Pandora's Box as well, just as Rumple told them he needed to.

Belle had taken up the task now of furnishing the castle. The construction – and reconstruction – was compete. There were walls, doors, floors... the roof didn't have a single leak in it anywhere. It had been an uphill battle, but Belle had managed to talk the Heritage Council into letting her get the castle properly fitted with the amenities like plumbing, electricity, phone lines and gas.

But it was still a very empty castle.

After all, she and Harry certainly hadn't brought furniture with them when they left the Enchanted Forest behind.

So, while Harry was at Hogwarts being educated, Belle started visiting the antique shops, the junk shops, and the estate sales. She went to the school fairs where people were selling their things out of the backs of their cars, to the auction houses, and even the local Ikea. She didn't want to detract from the inherent beauty of the restored castle by cluttering it up, but at the same time, the castle was  _home_ now, as much as the Dark Castle was (and still is). Belle was used to living in a castle. The furniture she bought, for all that it was antique and valuable, would be the furniture that got used.

Even the spinning wheel.

Belle had found the large old spinning wheel at a garage sale, and even though the woman selling it had given it to her – and gladly – for five pounds, Belle knew that this was one object that would take pride of place in the castle. It must have been the woman's grandmother's, it was covered with so much dust, and the axle of the wheel was a little rusted. Underneath that dust and hint of rust though, the wheel was clearly a well-loved, well-used item that had likely spun the wool that went into making a few jumpers for children and grandchildren.

With Lennox Castle as large as it was though, and with as picky as Belle was about the furniture that she would put into it, she was still well and truly finished by the time Harry has returned from his fifth year at Hogwarts – a year that was delightfully uneventful, especially when compared to the previous school year's escapades.

~oOo~

In the sixth year, Belle decided that she would return to being a professional student. The castle was finished, furnished... and empty. After all, Harry was away at Hogwarts for the better part of ten months out of the twelve this world used to measure the passage of time with. However much Belle wished to fill Lennox Castle with laughter and light, most of her friends in Glasgow worked during the day, or else had night-shift and were getting desperately needed sleep at that time.

So, Belle had concluded that gaining more learning would occupy her sufficiently, and as she had already purchased a spinning wheel, decided that the next step would be to buy a loom and learn to weave the thread that she and Harry could spin. She got the hang of it by the seventh year, and turned her attention then to knitting the thicker yarns, as well as cutting and sewing the cloths she had woven into garments to wear. Belle even learned about felting when she attended the craft fair that was recommended to her by her various teachers in these arts.

In the eighth year, Harry was finally finished with Hogwarts, so Belle was rarely as alone in Lennox Castle as she had been for the previous seven – for which she was very glad. With only two years left, Belle was feeling the absence of her husband as acutely as when they had been in the world for only two years. The nearer the day came that she anticipated Rumple's call, the more desperately she missed him.

Harry, when he wasn't away from the castle learning more about mechanical engineering (he refused to say why he chose that subject for further study), took up a place beside wherever his aunt chose to work. Generally this was a Saturday or Sunday, as he had classes during the week. With a laptop computer before him, Harry asked her to tell him the stories of the Enchanted Forest. As she spoke, he typed, recording it all. Every deal that Rumple had made that specifically led up to the curse, every adventure that Belle had been sent on by him as a sort of covert agent, encouraging people to find their happy endings before Regina ripped them all away.

Harry turned it into a book that, in their ninth year, he published.

The tenth year was taken up with packing. Sorting out what would be taken and what would be left behind; what would be sold and what would simply be stored. Belle even disappeared with measurements – Harry's, her own, even Rumple's, though she had no way of knowing if the measurements taken back in the Enchanted Forest so many years ago were still accurate – and returned with wardrobes of dragon-hide, much of the spell-resistant leather worked until it was soft as butter for wearing.

Then it came. Rumple's voice, though it sounded closer to tears than either of them had ever heard him.

“ _Belle, Harry,”_ he called.

They went.


	11. Chapter 11

They could feel it the moment they arrived. Or perhaps rather, they could feel the  _ lack _ of it. There was no magic in this world. None, or so little and so faint that it made no difference. There was not even any magic in them, and they had just arrived there by magical means. It was the very first thing that they noticed.

The second thing they noticed was a man in a suit, wearing a black-and-white checked shirt and a black-and-grey checked tie, his weight supported on a cane, and an expression of mingled heartbreak and elation on his face as he looked at them.

His face was different than they remembered, but in a land without magic, the green-gold skin of his former visage would be strange. His eyes were more human as well, and his hair was straight.

“Rumple?” Belle asked softly as she reached – so tentatively – out to him, afraid that this was a dream she was having. It wouldn't be the first of this kind, though she'd never dreamed him quite so human before.

“Belle,” the man answered, and it was  _ his _ voice.

Belle closed the scant distance between them faster than Harry had ever seen her move before, and with desperate longing she claimed her husband's lips with her own for the very first time. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, and his clutched her back, still afraid that  _ he _ was also dreaming.

But they weren't. None of them were.

Harry could only smile as he watched them. Well, maybe he could cry too, but he would fight that off for as long as he could.

“Hi,” Belle said, a little tearfully, when they finally parted.

“Hi,” Rumple answered, his own eyes glassy even as he smiled back at her. Then he looked over at Harry. “You...”

“Hi Uncle Rum,” Harry said, and found he couldn't fight the tears back any more as he moved to embrace the man who had loved him and tucked him into bed and always seemed so much larger than life – and was now three inches shorter than him.

“Harry,” Rumple choked out as he returned the young man's embrace.

“So, where are we?” Harry asked when he and his uncle released each other.

“The county of Storybrooke in the state of Maine, the country called America,” Rumple supplied with a sniff as he cleared away his tears. “Forest around the outskirts of the town. A place where things once lost to us are returned,” he said, with a vague nod towards an old well that stood behind his returned loved ones.

“Then how about we return  _ magic _ , and then you can show us where home is in this new land?” Belle suggested with a smile, and pulled a little bottle from beneath her blouse. After all, she knew perfectly well that they would need magic to find Rumple's son.

“Bottled True Love,” Rumple said softly as he recognised it.

“Our True Love,” Belle confirmed, and pressed it into her husband's hand. “If you would like to do the honours?”

Rumple kissed her again, then limped up to the well, uncorked the bottle, and dropped the whole thing in.

A draught came up from within the well, and along with it a warm, cloying, purple mist that spread up and out all around them, though in the darkness of the evening, it was difficult to see.

“Why is True Love purple?” Harry asked, genuinely curious, even as they all felt magic flow around them once more, and the  _ lack _ they had all felt vanished in the wake of the  _ presence _ of magic.

Rumple and Belle laughed at that.

“No, I'm serious,” Harry persisted. “Uncle Rum's magic is purple, but Aunty Belle's has always been gold, so why is True Love purple? Aunty Belle made that potion, after all.”

“It's because, as wonderful as love is, it's also awful,” Rumple answered. “It is the hope that fuels our dreams, has killed more people than any other disease, and people will do anything to get it. And my magic is like that as well. Now come along, it's late, and I'm afraid it's a long walk back to my home from here.”

Belle laughed. “But you have magic again,” she reminded him as she cupped his face in her hands and wove her fingers into his hair. “You don't need to walk back.”

Rumple laughed, a deep laugh from his stomach rather than the delightfully tittering giggle that had always sounded from his throat before, and wrapped his arms around his wife and his nephew. For just a moment he relished in the feeling of their arms around him in return, and then they vanished away to his house on the outskirts of the other side of Storybrooke.

~oOo~

“Uncle Rum, your house is pink,” Harry said, stifling laughter.

“With green trim,” Belle added with a smile. “A far cry from the Dark Castle.”

“Well, I only just woke up from the haze caused by the curse,” Rumple defended meekly as he unlocked his front door and let his family into his home.

Belle kissed his cheek. “I'll fix it up,” she promised as she crossed the threshold.

“It'll be nothing after Lennox Castle,” Harry agreed as he followed.

“Lennox Castle?” Rumple repeated, intrigued, as he closed and re-locked the door behind them.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” Belle declared. “Fortunately, I made friends with a lovely young woman who had an interest in photography, so we have a lot of pictures of the years you missed.”

“I just wish tomorrow was Sunday,” Rumple said, “so that I could just spend the day at home with you both. Unfortunately, I have to open the shop.”

Belle caressed his cheek fondly. “That's alright,” she promised. “The important things will be explanations. Where I was, since I  _ am _ your wife, and what is your name here?”

“Mr Gold,” Rumple said, giving the second answer needed quickly. “Regina gave me the name  _ Mister Gold _ . No other name.”

“Well, we've been saying your name was William while we were in my home world,” Harry offered. “Said that I couldn't pronounce it properly as a kid and could only call you 'Rum', and it stuck.”

Rumple nodded in acceptance. “I can remember that,” he agreed. “And you, my Belle?” he asked softly, slipping his fingers into hers.

“I can remember to call you William,” she promised with a smile. “And I was away getting my degree, then as a project manager for a castle restoration in Glasgow,” she said firmly. “I did all those things, so I'm not going to forget. As for why? Because my husband is wonderful and wanted me to pursue my dreams, even if his business kept him here, away from me.”

“All of which is true enough,” Rumple said slowly, and nodded firmly. “Alright, that's that out of the way. Now, shall I show you to your rooms, or are you hungry?”

“We had our evening meal about an hour before you called us,” Harry deferred. “I, personally, just want to unpack and turn in.”

Belle nodded in agreement, and squeezed her husband's hand in both of hers. Then she remembered something else important.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, and reached into another pocket. “You're human now Rumple, and the curse has begun to weaken enough that time is probably moving again here.” Belle withdrew from her pocket the vial that had Rumple's improved elixir of life. “I'm not going to lose you to anything,” she informed him flatly. “I know what it's like to live without you after having known you. I made the best of it, but I was miserable.”

“She was,” Harry confirmed. “Best drink willingly before she pours it down your throat.”

Rumple laughed gladly, kissed Belle's lips tenderly, accepted the elixir, and took a sip. A shimmer of purple magic rippled over him, just as it had when Belle had drunk the measure Rumple had given her back in the Enchanted Forest.

“What about you, Harry?” Rumple offered.

Harry held up his hands in denial and shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he answered. “I might just be crazy, but I think I might actually be looking forward to growing old with someone some day. So I'd rather not.”

“Fair enough,” Rumple agreed, and re-corked the vial of elixir. “I'll have to find somewhere safe to keep this,” he said lowly. “Can't have something like this just lying around.”

“Maybe hide it with your dagger?” Belle suggested, aware of how closely he had the dagger of the Dark One guarded.

Rumple shook his head. “Too many dangerous things in one place,” he denied. “I'll think of something though. Tomorrow, on the other hand... why don't you both come with me to the shop. I can point out everything along the way, you can get to know Storybrooke, and we can spend some time together.”

Belle snuggled up to her husband's side. She had truly, truly missed him. “I'd like that.”

~oOo~

“Mr Gold,” Ruby greeted as she came up to their table in her grandmother's diner. It looked like the man had worked through his usual lunch hour, taking his break from the pawn shop at half-past two, rather than at one like he usually did. “And...”

“Miss Ruby Lucas, this is my wife, Isobelle, and my nephew Harry,” Gold presented with what Ruby was certain was the first ever truly happy smile she'd seen on his face.

“Wife?!” Ruby yelped, unable to stop herself.

The woman in question laughed lightly. “We've both been abroad. Harry was enrolled in a school in Scotland, and he needed one of us to be in the country while he was attending. I took up some study there too, and then worked, until Harry was finished with his own education.”

“And then Aunty Belle's work ran over a few years, and I stayed to keep her company until it was done and we could come home,” Harry added, explaining why he was older than a fresh-out-of-school teen. “Miss Ruby, do you know of any apartments for rent?” Harry asked with a conspiratorial smile. “These two have been apart for ten years, I don't want to have to live just down the hall from them, however much I missed my uncle.”

“Harry!” Belle hissed, a blush rising on her cheeks.

“There's no call for that sort of talk,” Rumple agreed, his tone scolding.

“Hey, just because we were all too tired for anything more than passing out last night,” Harry said, and raised his hands defensively, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. “And you're old, Uncle Rum, not dead. I know what married people do behind closed doors.”

“Belle, what  _ have _ you let this boy get up to?” Rumple demanded softly.

“Oh no, not my influence,” she denied. “Harry met his godfather while we were in Scotland, and I swear that man is stuck with the mind of a teenager.”

“Uncle Rum?” Ruby asked tentatively, having watched the entire exchange with rapt fascination. Mr Gold had a family. Who knew? No, really, who? Because she sure as heck hadn't known, and not only did all news eventually come through the diner, Granny had been paying the man rent for at least all of Ruby's life.

Harry ducked his head sheepishly. “I couldn't say 'Uncle William' when I was little, so he became Uncle Rum, and it stuck,” he admitted.

“Huh,” Ruby said, and it suddenly occurred to her that, until that moment, Mr Gold had always and only been Mr Gold. She hadn't known his first name. “Well, Granny runs the bed and breakfast as well as the diner, if you want a room there... Oh and, uh, what can I get you today?” she asked, and brought up her pencil ready to write down their orders.

“I'll have my usual please Ruby,” Mr Gold requested.

“My husband has impeccable taste,” Belle declared with a smile. “Whatever he's having, I'll have the same.”

Harry laughed. “Might as well make it three,” he told Ruby with a smile.

“Three burgers with fries,” Ruby declared. “You two want the extra pickles Mr Gold always gets?”

“Okay, maybe my husband's taste isn't  _ always _ impeccable,” Belle allowed. “Like the mistake he made when letting his house be painted pink. I'll pass on the pickles.”

“I'll have 'em,” Harry said.

“Two with extra pickles then,” Ruby said. “I know Mr Gold always has iced tea this time of year, that good for everyone? If it is, I can bring out a jug for the table to share.”

“That sounds wonderful Ruby,” Belle agreed with a smile. “Thank you.”

Ruby made a note and headed off towards the kitchen. She didn't walk so fast though that she didn't hear more of the conversation of the strange little party of three.

“She's certainly... different,” Belle offered.

“She's a good girl,” Mr Gold stated frankly. “Don't let the way she dresses fool you. She just happens to know she's a damned attractive girl, and isn't afraid to show it. She has to put up with a lot because of that fearlessness, but she's still a good girl, so Harry? If you misbehave about her, we'll find out if you having grown up to be taller than me will prevent me from putting you over my knee.”

“Uncle Rum, I'd never!” Harry objected. “Joking aside, yes, Ruby is beautiful and I'd like to get to know her better. Before I can even think of asking for a date though, there's friendly flirting and making polite conversation. You and Aunty Belle did raise a gentleman after all, just like you promised my mother you would.”

Ruby bit her bottom lip thoughtfully as she closed the door to the kitchen behind her. Mr Gold thought that of her? She hadn't known... then again, it seemed there was a lot she hadn't known about Mr Gold.

~oOo~

For the sake of letting Harry and Belle see more of Storybrooke, while at the same time not overwhelming them, Rumple had deferred lunch until later than usual. This allowed them to see people going about in the after-school hours, while not having to be pressed amongst them.

“And this young man coming barrelling towards us is Henry,” Rumple said with a smile as the boy did, indeed, seem to be running down the pavement, Snow White right behind him.

Belle blinked at how very short the woman's hair was, as compared to what it had been in the Enchanted Forest.

“Oh, uh, hello Mr Gold,” the woman said, a little nervous as she restrained Henry with a soft hand on his shoulder. “And...?”

“Miss Blanchard, this is my wife, Isobelle, and my nephew Harry. Belle, Harry, this is Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard,” Rumple presented.

“I'm a teacher at the primary school,” Snow White offered softly through her amazement. Mr Gold had a wife?

“Pleased to meet you,” Belle answered with a smile.

“What's the rush Henry?” Rumple asked the boy with a kind sort of smile.

“Um...” the boy hesitated nervously.

“We're going to post bail for Henry's biological mother,” Snow White explained.

Belle couldn't help but blink in surprise at that. “Beg pardon?” she asked.

“Ah, our illustrious mayor, Regina Mills, adopted Henry when he was a baby, and Henry himself recently found his biological mother, Emma Swan, and brought her from Brooklyn to Storybrooke. I suspect that Regina hasn't exactly been taking the competition for Henry's affection too well,” Rumple explained softly.

Snow took her turn to gape in shock, then shook herself out of it. “We're, uh, we need to get going to post that bail.”

“Miss Blanchard, correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression that teachers didn't have a lot of excess money lying around,” Belle said gently. “Can you afford bail?”

“I can,” Snow answered firmly, and her chin raised with defiant pride. “Besides, as short a time as I've known Emma, I feel like I can trust her.”

“Well...” Belle mused thoughtfully. “Harry, I want enough midnight blue to cover the whole house, and be sure to get the weatherproof paint meant for painting the outside of houses,” she instructed, and looped one arm through Rumple's. “Now, I want to meet this woman,” she declared.

Rumple sighed and fished out his wallet. “Do you have enough to buy the paint with Harry?” he asked, fingering a few high-value bills.

Harry waved him off. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I got it covered. Hardware's just two more blocks over, right?” he checked, jerking his thumb in the direction they had been walking before.

Rumple nodded and put his wallet away.

“See you at home then,” Harry bid and headed off.

“I... didn't know Mr Gold had a wife,” Snow admitted as they walked together, and the statement had a question implied.

For the second time in the last hour, Belle explained where she'd been for the past ten years – a time that was long enough for everybody in Storybrooke to have forgotten about her, without question, and Miss Blanchard accepted it. Young Henry, on the other hand, was looking confused and a little frustrated.

“What was it like, in Scotland?” he demanded to know – and it was a sharp question, like he was expecting she wouldn't be able to tell him. He also looked very nervous of speaking up at all in the first place, but couldn't help but want to know.

Belle stopped walking, unlooped her arm from her husband's, and bent down to look the boy in the eye. This child was intelligent, and more than that, he'd not been born in Storybrooke. He wasn't actually affected by the curse that kept everyone in town frozen in time. A smart boy with a pair of working eyes would be able to see that things in the town weren't normal.

“It was  _ magical _ ,” Belle told the boy honestly. “Like time passed differently there. Still, I missed my husband, and the only reason I was there instead of here with him was because he insisted I go. Harry needed someone to look after him.”

“And I couldn't leave,” Rumple added sadly from where he stood straight beside her. “I had too much to do here. Besides, I knew that one day my Isobelle would come back to me.”

“Like time passed differently,” Henry repeated.

Belle nodded solemnly.

“Like... how differently?”

“Three to one,” Belle replied instantly. “And I was away from my William for ten years.”

“It felt like thirty to me as well love,” Rumple said with a smile.

Henry's eyes went wide as a faint light of understanding flickered to life there, and an almost awed look spread across his face.

~oOo~

“Well she's the mayor,” a male voice said as they entered the sheriff's office. “She has her hands in everything.”

“Including the police force?” a female voice countered in enquiry as their little party followed Henry through to the back of the building.

“Hey!” the boy called out.

“Henry, what are you doing here?” asked the man in the uniform.

“His mother told him what happened,” Mary Margaret supplied.

“Of course she did,” said the blonde woman with handcuffs around her wrists. Emma Swan, without a doubt the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. She had Snow's bone structure (particularly her chin) and Charming's colouring. “Henry, I don't know what she told you -”

“You're a genius!” Henry cut her off.

“What?” Emma asked softly, confused.

“I know what you were doing,” Henry said earnestly. “You were gathering intel. For operation cobra.”

“I'm sorry,” the sheriff said, “I'm a bit lost,” he admitted, and shook his head slightly as if that would allow the strange conversation to line up in his brain in a way that made sense.

“It's need to know, Sheriff,” Henry said apologetically, “and all you need to know is that Miss Blanchard's gonna bail her out.”

“You are?” Emma questioned, blue eyes focused on Snow. “Why?”  
“Actually, she's not,” Belle corrected with a smile before Snow could answer either question. “I am.”

“You are?” Snow asked, echoing her daughter as she turned sharply to look at Belle. “Why?”

Belle laughed at that, unable to stop herself, though she did her best to stifle it down to a mere fit of giggles. Beside her, she could feel her husband's snort of amusement at how the mother and daughter sounded so alike in their shock.

“Because I want to know the woman who has put Regina's nose out of joint so much,” Belle managed to say, “and if I know Regina at all, chances are she's going to have you out of your room before the day is done, so you might as well stay with us as well,” she offered, squeezing Rumple's arm where it was twined with her own both gently and pointedly. “You can even help us paint over the pink weatherboard. It would be quite a job with just me, William and our nephew.”

“Well,” Emma said, and turned to the sheriff, arms extended. “If you could uncuff me, I have something to do.”

“Right, painting Mr Gold's house,” the sheriff agreed.

“No, well, yes, but something else before that,” Emma corrected.


	12. Chapter 12

“Mrs Gold,” Ruby greeted, just a little nervously.

“Belle, please Miss Ruby,” Belle correct with a smile. “Or Isobelle, if you're not comfortable being that informal with me. I believe you know Miss Emma?” she asked with a gesture to the blonde at her side.

It had been truly entertaining to follow Emma under an invisibility spell and watch her chop off a branch of Regina's precious apple tree. To say nothing of the exchange of words the two women had when Regina had stormed into the garden over the matter.

Ruby glanced over at Emma nodded quickly. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Um, we just got a call from the mayor's office, I swear, two minutes ago, reminding us of a city ordinance that means we have a no-felons policy,” she added, her faced creased with apology.

“Figures,” Emma allowed. “Keep the pay for the room. I'll clear my stuff out and get you the key.”

“Sorry,” Ruby offered genuinely.

Emma waved the girl off and headed up to her room.

“William and I will give her somewhere to stay for now,” Belle assured Ruby gently. “But if Harry doesn't want to stay with us for too long, I can't imagine a woman completely unrelated to us will be any more comfortable with the arrangement. Do you know anybody who might be looking for a room-mate?”

“I think your husband would probably know better,” Ruby answered honestly, and seemed to be distinctly uncomfortable with the subject. “Since, you know, he pretty much owns the town. Oh! And uh, speaking of, you left the diner before I could give you the change from what you left to pay for your lunch,” Ruby said quickly, and started digging into her apron. “I kept it separate -”

“Miss Ruby,” Belle interrupted gently, an amused smile on her face. “I believe it's called a tip.”

Ruby blinked and dropped her jaw in shock.

“You provided wonderful service today. You know my William's order by heart. I heard you say 'this time of year he has iced tea', so you know what changes and when,” Belle praised. “And I know my husband,” she added, her gentle smile turning into a wry smirk. “He's a grump of the highest order when he doesn't have his loved ones around him, but he's very caring under that gruff exterior. Keep the change, Miss Ruby.”

~oOo~

Emma returned to Belle's side, her meagre belongings – she hadn't, after all, actually intended to stay as long as she already had – in hand. The pair then left the bed and breakfast, headed for Emma's car so that she could drive it out to Mr Gold's house. They'd just spotted the particular device that would prevent its being driven anywhere when Emma's phone rang.

“Yeah?” she near-snapped.

“ _Miss Swan, I'd be happy to continue demonstrating my power,”_ Regina's voice purred from the small speaker.  _ “But, am I right in guessing your resolve to stay is only growing?” _

“You have no idea,” Emma agreed with a scowl as she marched across the road to her car.

Belle walked with her, intent on hearing as much of this little conversation as she could.

“ _Well then, I think it's time we made peace,”_ Regina offered.  _ “Why don't you drive over to my office?” _ she suggested.

Emma tossed her jacket into her car and slammed the door shut. She wasn't driving anywhere, and the lady mayor knew it.

“ _Or walk,”_ Regina amended.  _ “Whatever suits you.” _

“Considering the tensions between the two of you Miss Emma, I think you're going to need a mediator,” Belle suggested softly to the blonde.

Emma nodded as she pushed the 'hang up' button on her phone. “Feel like being the third party and fly on the wall?”

Belle smiled and linked her arm with Emma's. “Let's go meet us an evil queen,” she suggested impishly.

Emma groaned. “Oh, not you too!” she complained.

“Well, less-than-saintly mayor, then,” Belle amended with an amused smirk that she was just barely keeping from turning into a full-blown grin.

When they reached Regina's office, Belle raised an eyebrow at the décor.

“Very... stark,” she offered neutrally, and pretended that she didn't enjoy watching Regina try desperately not to squirm at her very presence. It seemed the lady mayor hadn't heard of  _ her _ arrival yet, but  _ oh _ the woman knew who she was.

Regina had tried to kidnap her once, tried to lock her up in a tower. She'd failed, and Belle's escape from the 'inescapable' tower had frightened her. Belle's presence here, now, frightened her too.

“Thank you,” Regina answered. “Miss...?”

Belle smiled, an expression that showed off her very white teeth. “Mrs, actually. Mrs Gold. I'm here to be mediator, just in case,” she explained.

Regina nodded slowly, and offered drinks. Emma refused politely, Belle requested water.

“First off, Miss Swan, I'd like to start by apologising,” Regina said as she settled herself into one of her chairs, a glass of her home-brewed cider in one hand, though it was quickly enough set on her coffee table, rather than drunk from.

Emma raised both eyebrows at that. “What?” she asked, equal parts disbelieving and neutral.

“I just have to accept the reality that you want to be here,” Regina admitted.

“That's right I do,” Emma agreed frankly.

“And that you're trying to take my son from me,” Regina continued.

“Okay, let's be clear: I have no intention of taking him from anyone,” Emma corrected honestly.

That seemed to surprise Regina. “Well then what are you doing here?” she asked, confused.

“I know I'm not a mother,” Emma said. “I think that's pretty self-evident.”

“Calmly,” Belle reminded her when Emma's words started to speed up and into each other.

Emma took a deep breath. “Right. Thank you,” she said softly to Belle, then turned back to Regina. “I'm not a mother, but I did have him. I can't help that he got in my head,” she explained, forcing herself to speak slowly, calmly, deliberately. “And I want to make sure he's okay. The more you try to push me out, the more I want to be here.”

Belle giggled a little at that, drawing the attention of both women to her, questions in their faces.

“Never grew out of the rebellious stage?” she asked.

Emma smirked at that. “Maybe not,” she allowed. “Look, for whatever reason, you send him to a shrink, regularly. For whatever reason, a couple of days ago he showed up on my doorstep.”

“For whatever reason, he thinks you're an evil queen,” Belle interjected, and frowned. “Where would he get that sort of idea?” she asked. “He seems a very loving boy to me, and you raised him, so...”

“Mrs Gold...” Regina said, and floundered a moment, jaw working and nothing coming out. “I... it started with a storybook that Henry got from his teacher.”

Belle chuckled softly. “Must be quite a book,” she offered. “I'd like to see it some time, if you please. I'm terribly fond of a good book.”

“Top drawer on the left,” Regina said with a permitting wave in the direction of her desk and a very slightly glazed look in her eye. “Help yourself,” she added, and the glazed look fell completely away – and a slight scowl took its place.

Belle rose from her chair and went to fetch the item with an eager smile. When she turned around, book in her arms like a treasure, she spotted Henry standing by the door, silent and intent.

“Henry!” she called in greeting, and Emma whipped her head around, seeking out the boy they had been discussing. “What brings you here?” she asked with a warm smile.

“Dinner, before my therapy session,” Henry answered. “What's going on?”

“Oh, your adoptive mother and your biological mother are trying to make peace,” Belle said, a trifle dismissively. “I'm not entirely sure how well they're doing, but they won't be coming to blows as long as I'm here to stand between them,” she promised with a teasing smile.

Henry, bless him, laughed at that.

“But Henry,” Belle said, much more seriously as she took his chin between thumb and forefinger. “I want you to understand something right now,” she requested, and shifted her hand to move him into the room with both his mothers.

Both of them watching Belle like hawks as she settled the boy on a couch between them, and herself beside the boy.

“What's that?” Henry asked.

“No matter what any story book says, nobody,  _ nobody _ is all the way evil,” Belle told the child seriously. “Just like nobody is all the way good, either. Are they?” she added pointedly to the two women.

Both shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but they both also nodded in agreement.

“Because evil is made, and good is learned,” she explained. That said, Belle pulled her purse around and reached in. It was a blue, good-sized purse, and it was magically expanded on the inside. She pulled out a copy of the thick-covered, picture-strewn, kid-friendly version of the book that Harry had written – the one based off all of Belle's stories of the Enchanted Forest, and of Rumplestiltskin in particular. Being the kid-friendly version, there were certain stories that were missing though.

“What's that?” Regina asked, near demanded, her voice snappish. “Not another book?”

Belle smiled. “Another book,” she confirmed, and quickly opened the large, leather-bound book with  _ Once Upon a Time _ embossed in gold on the cover. She quickly scanned the words written within, just a couple of pages, and nodded. “In exchange for this one,” she explained as she hefted the clearly older book she'd taken from Regina's desk. “It's only fair that you have another to replace it, and if you like Henry, because you're such a sweet boy, if you ask nicely and say 'please', I'll even put a magic spell on it,” Belle offered with wide eyes.

Emma bit back a scoff, and Regina hoped that nobody noticed how she went rigid in her chair.

“A spell?” Henry asked eagerly.

Belle nodded. “So that you will be the only person who can open it,” she said.

“Please Mrs Gold, please will you do that spell?” Henry begged.

“You have to close your eyes, and not peek or open them until I say,” Belle instructed, and she grinned widely as Henry obediently squeezed his eyes shut.

Belle pulled out a padlock from her purse and attached it to the book's cover, a tiny key in it. It was the sort of lock that was frequently found on the diaries of little girls. To this, she added a small sprinkling of gold glitter.

“Open your eyes,” she instructed Henry.

“Wow!” Henry praised when he saw the lock. “Did you see?!” he asked, eyes bright.

Emma nodded, a wry smile on her face, as she glanced back at Belle. Regina had relaxed only slightly in her chair.

“You go start that,” Belle suggested, and urged him out of his seat. “Your mothers aren't quite done talking yet.”

“Okay!” Henry agreed, and bounced out of Regina's office.

“How did...” Emma tried once Henry was out of sight. “How did you know how to handle him?”

“I helped my husband raise our nephew,” Belle explained reasonably. “And don't worry about the book, Madam Mayor,” Belle added as soothingly as she could. “It's really just the story of Beauty and the Beast, but it goes into more detail about why the beast was so cruel to the beautiful girl. An explanation of how good and evil aren't always so clear-cut. It should put a stop to his calling you 'the evil queen', at least for a while.”

Regina nodded hesitantly. “Thank you,” she said, though she didn't sound at all sure of that platitude.

“Now,” Belle said firmly, dusting the last bits of glitter off her dress. “I don't think either of you want to turn this into a custody battle. That wouldn't be good for Henry. He wants Emma here, she's consented to his wishes and decided to stay, and that's that. Mayor Mills, I know you love your son. Telling him that sometimes he can't have something he wants is part of raising a child. This isn't just something he  _ wants _ though. It's something he  _ needs _ .”

“Needs,” Regina repeated a little darkly.

“Needs,” Belle confirmed. “Take it from a woman who has raised a child not her own, and has already gone through this stage. Henry  _ needs _ Emma here, at least for a while. Harry was the same, wanting to know where his mother was, and why she couldn't raise him. I had it easier in that Lily was dead, and had been since he was only one, but when he was Henry's age, Harry absolutely obsessed over her journals until he'd read them all through five times.”

Regina slumped. “Fine,” she permitted. “I don't have to like it, or you, though,” she added to Emma. “And I sure as hell don't ever want you in my house, or anywhere near my apple tree again.”

Emma nodded. “I can live with that,” she agreed.

Reluctantly, Regina nodded her agreement as well.

Belle couldn't resist, and she knew her husband would be proud of her when she shared the memory in the pensieve they had already set up in their home.

“Then the deal is struck,” she said with a high, happy giggle so much like her husband's had been.

Regina's face was a mask of barely-concealed horror.

~oOo~

“Oh, here,” Emma said when she and Belle had returned to where Emma's car – now free of the wheel-stopper – was parked. “Henry tore out the last pages of that book,” she said, and presented the rolled up pieces of paper to Belle. “Said they were too dangerous for Regina to see. I'm prepared to indulge him on that, but I figure they're probably safe with you.”

Belle smiled as she accepted the pages. “Thank you, Emma,” she said. “Not knowing how the story ends is something that always drives me mad. I promise, I'll keep them hid.”

She carefully didn't say who she would hide them from, but as she had a fairly good idea about the entire contents of the book, and linked with Henry's relayed claim that these last pages were too dangerous for Regina to know... well, Belle owed Regina for trying to lock her away a couple of times. She wouldn't be getting her hands on those pages.

“So... your house,” Emma said, a little uneasily.

“If you don't want to live with a recently reunited married couple, then I promise not to be offended,” Belle offered with a knowing smile. Not that she and Rumple had gone that far, but it was distinctly possible that they might yet, and she had spent many a lonely evening discovering the wonders of the 'trashy romance' genre of books.

She'd never spent money on a Harlequin or Mills and Boon, but she had certainly borrowed every copy that was available to her from the Glasgow library over the ten years she had lived there. She had even, when particularly lonely, borrowed books that actually described, in a completely clinical fashion (one or two even being part of the yellow-covered  _ for dummies _ collection), things like kinks and fetishes.

Belle had found True Love with Rumplestiltskin, back in the Enchanted Forest. Back when his skin had been that fascinating green-gold, his hair had curled, his eyes had been so very changeable, and his clothing  _ much _ more flamboyant. She knew that the man he was now was still her Rumple, but he was also different. He had twenty-eight years of life as Mr Gold, no first name bothered with, and that had, by necessity, changed him.

The most obvious change of course being his appearance.

Belle would grow used to these changes though, and underneath them all he was still – and always would be – her Rumple. The man who told her that her virtue was something that could not, should not, ever be taken, but only freely given.

Belle was fairly sure she'd have worked herself up to freely giving it before the week was out – as the saying went, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder', and it had been True Love before their separation. They might only cuddle and curl up together in bed yet, but it would come. Rumple had given her private chambers in this world just as he had in the last. The first night, Belle had simply deposited her things in there, changed, and then crawled into bed with him last night, begging him to just hold her.

They had both needed reassurance that they weren't dreaming, after all the years apart. The (admittedly few) nights since had, however, seen them sleeping separately again, just as before. They had to get used to each other all over again, after all. They kissed freely now, and for now, that was enough for them both. More would come, eventually.

“I will hold you to helping me paint the place in exchange for the bail though,” Belle added with a smile as she brought her thoughts back to the present. “But Ruby's right: if anyone knows where you'll be able to find an apartment for rent in this town, or who's looking for someone to share their rent with, then it will be my William. Oh, and I do have one other question,” Belle said, digressing.

“Yeah?”

“What's is Henry's 'operation cobra'?” Belle asked, intrigued. “And I will solemnly swear not to tell Regina, if needed.”

“Operation cobra is Henry's plan to break the curse that he believes the town to be under,” Emma explained. “Thinks everyone in town is a character from that book.”

Belle nodded in understanding, and smiled to herself. “Now, it's going to take some time for your things to get here from wherever they are, so you'll probably need a shirt or two to tide you over at least. Especially if you get paint on yourself. Come on, I want to check out the shoe sales anyway.”


	13. Chapter 13

It turned out that, no, there weren't any apartments available. Not one vacancy in the whole of Storybrooke, except for at the B'n'B where Emma was no longer permitted to stay. Well, not strictly speaking, anyway. There was an apartment over the library, just beneath the clock tower, but access to the apartment was  _ through _ the library exclusively.

“And as resourceful as I'm sure you are Miss Swan,” Rumple said with a smile that flashed his gold-covered tooth, “I'll not let the library apartment to someone as long as I know that building to be unsafe.”

Emma grimaced. “Not sure I'd want to live somewhere that would be echoing with the clock bell every hour either,” she admitted.

“I've got a spare room,” a voice offered.

The Golds, Harry, and Emma had been having dinner at Granny's – each one delicately not watching the horrific date of Mary Margaret and Doctor Whale. A man who couldn't seem to focus on what the pretty girl was saying, as he was far too distracted by the legs that were being casually flashed by Ruby as she cleaned tables.

“I'm not really the room-mate type,” Emma admitted.

“Your total options look like a guest room, either at our house or in Mary Margaret's flat,” Belle pointed out.

“Unless you really want to sleep in your bug,” Harry pointed out. “Uncle Rum, if you'll give me the keys to the library, I can take a careful look about the place with my camera. Personally, I'll stay at Granny's, but once I get the pictures taken, Aunty Belle should be able to give you a quote on how much it will cost to fix the place up by dinner time the next night.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, impressed.

“Architecture and civil engineering degree,” Belle explained away with a slightly self-concious, but still very proud of herself, smile. “But however good I am -”

“And she's very good,” Harry quipped with a grin.

Belle cast him a mildly reproving glare for interrupting her. “- not even I can work miracles and get a building fixed up over-night. If William says the building is unsafe, then probably not even in a month,” she admitted. “The library is an old building too, old buildings take longer to fix up than new ones.”

“Why is that?” Mary Margaret asked, confused.

Harry shifted over in the booth, gestured for Emma to do the same, and so silently invited the primary school teacher to sit with them.

“If a building is listed as part of some place's history, then that history has to be preserved,” Belle explained. “The problem comes in when the laws that were created to preserve the buildings also prevent anything being fixed, for fear that the fixing will damage the historical integrity of the building.”

“Aunt Belle managed to fix up a whole castle though,” Harry boasted with a grin. “So a little library shouldn't be too hard.”

“That castle took  _ years _ ,” Belle reminded the young man across the table from her. “The bureaucratic process, the sourcing of materials, the shipping of materials, the construction itself, the political game that means something you got approval for six weeks ago they no longer approve of,” Belle grumbled. “And actually figuring out how I was going to rebuild the place at all. How do I make a stone building insulated? How do I get support beams for upper floors in place, when there's nowhere to secure them? Because I certainly couldn't touch the existing stone to slot those needed beams in.”

“Sounds like a stressful experience,” Emma offered.

“It was,” Belle declared flatly, then smiled. “But one I enjoyed thoroughly. I hate seeing old things being left to crumble and fade away.”

“Is that why you married  _ me _ , love?” Rumple teased with a smile.

Belle kissed him shortly. “No,” she answered with a smile, and waited for the two women across the table from her to be sipping from their drinks – Mary Margaret had brought hers over with her when she joined them. “I married you because you looked  _ really _ good in those tight leather trousers you used to wear, and then I found out about the motorcycle you owned.”

Both women spat out their drinks in a truly impressive spray.

Harry laughed, loud and from his belly.

Rumple sat perfectly still, having received most of that spray in his face.

Belle giggled as she collected napkins from the dispenser on their table and mopped up both herself and her husband. She'd known she'd suffer for that joke, but it was completely worth it.

“You did that on purpose,” Rumple growled at her.

“Of course I did, love,” Belle answered, utterly unrepentant as she grinned up at him, and stole another kiss.

Rumple's stern frown broke then, and turned into a resigned, but genuinely delighted, smile as he shook his head at her and accepted the napkins. “And I married you for your sense of humour,” he quipped in return. “You're taking this suit to the dry-cleaner's tomorrow though.”

Belle's grin stretched a little wider, and she kissed him again.

Harry finally calmed down, but the loud laughter had attracted attention.

“What happened?” Ruby asked as she pulled out the cloth she kept for wiping tables with. She looked askance at all the occupants of the table. “And why do Emma and Mary Margaret look like they've had their brains broken?” she asked.

“Because my minx of a wife mentioned that I owned a motorcycle in the same breath as recalling my days, long past now, of wearing very tight leather trousers,” Mr Gold answered in his best, most cultured tone. “For obvious reasons,” he continued, and raised his cane to indicate exactly what those reasons were, “I no longer ride that motorcycle, and as a respectable businessman, leather trousers aren't exactly suitable.”

Ruby's jaw worked silently for a moment as she stared at the couple, but she managed to snap out of it fairly quickly. Mary Margaret and Emma still hadn't recovered from their spittake.

“Right,” Ruby said at last. “Yeah, I can see how that would break their brains.” It seemed that hers might be in need of a few repairs yet as well.

~oOo~

“Mrs Gold?” a timid young voice called softly.

Belle was diligently painting her husband's house, just as she said she would, but the sound of that young voice stopped her.

“Hi Henry,” she greeted with a smile. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“I have some questions,” Henry said firmly, though he was also clearly still slightly nervous.

Belle laughed softly. “At your age, that's rather to be expected,” she pointed out. “Take off your bag and school jacket, pick up a brush, we can talk while we paint.”

Henry hurried to do as instructed, and soon the boy was standing beside her, getting his smaller brush into those parts where the weatherboard overlapped, and Belle's larger brush generally missed on the first go-over.

“So what's on your mind?” Belle asked.

“You said that, where you were before you came to Storybrooke, it was magical,” Henry said.

“I did,” Belle agreed.

“And you and Mr Gold said that it felt like every year you were gone, it was actually three,” Henry persisted.

“We did,” Belle confirmed.

“Which I think means you left the Enchanted Forest before the curse,” Henry concluded, and then glanced up at her, a steely determination in his eyes right along with a flicker of fear.

“Harry and I did, yes,” Belle answered softly.

“I knew it!”

“But my husband had to stay behind.”

“Why?” Henry asked, curious and confused as only a ten-year-old could be.

“That is a very short question, but it has a long, and very complicated answer,” Belle said. “How are you going with the book I gave you?” she asked, apparently changing the subject.

“It's weird,” Henry admitted with a grimace. “The beast is really strong and powerful, but he's also really scared of some stupid things,” the boy declared.

“Fear is rarely rational,” Belle pointed out.

“He shouldn't be mean to the beauty though, just because he's scared,” Henry insisted as he wet his paintbrush again.

“Well, he can't run away either,” Belle pointed out. “Part of his power comes from his reputation. Who would respect him if he ran away from what scared him?”

“I guess,” Henry allowed. “Oh hey! I found Prince Charming today!”

“Oh you did?” Belle enquired with appropriate amounts of curiosity.

“Uh-huh, he's John Doe in the hospital,” Henry explained. “He's got the same scar on his chin. He doesn't have anyone else, so it's just the coma keeping him and Miss Blanchard apart.”

“I very much doubt it,” Belle countered. “Think, Henry, just how did Snow White and Prince Charming actually  _ meet _ ?” she questioned.

Henry frowned. “Snow White stole a ring,” he said.

“A ring that Prince Charming was going to give to another woman,” Belle completed. “The daughter of King Midas, even. Now, do you really think that the person who cast the curse wouldn't have a plan for just in case he woke up from that coma?” she pointed out.

Henry winced. “So you mean... he might be engaged to her still?” the boy asked.

“They might well be married,” Belle corrected.

“But Miss Blanchard said he didn't have anybody!” Henry objected. “No one knows who he is, and that's why he's called John Doe, but he's Prince Charming, and he's just got to be with Snow White when he wakes up!”

Belle set her paintbrush aside and knelt down so that she was on eye-level with her young, impromptu, helper. “Henry, this isn't the Enchanted Forest,” she pointed out softly. “Here, simply being someone's True Love doesn't automatically make everything better, and bear in mind that, even in the Enchanted Forest, Snow White and Prince Charming didn't have an easy time of things, just because they were each other's True Love.”

“Could I try and wake him up anyway?” Henry asked. “I think if Miss Blanchard read their story to him, that would work.”

“It might,” Belle agreed. “But do you really want to tell your teacher that the man in a coma is her True Love, and then have something horrible happen?” she asked pointedly. “How do you think she might feel about that?”

Henry winced.

“I'll make you a deal,” Belle offered. “I'll ask Miss Blanchard to read the story for a recording, and I'll take it and play it for him in his room.”

“Really? Thanks Mrs Gold,” Henry said, a beaming smile on his face.

“I'm not done,” Belle said firmly, her face serious. “Deals involve both parties doing something. I've said what I'll do, now there's the part where we decide what you'll do.”

Henry nodded in understanding. “Okay,” he agreed tentatively. “What do I do?”

“I want you to always talk to a grown-up about your plans before you act on them,” Belle requested earnestly. “Me, Mr Gold, Harry, Emma or Doctor Hopper,” she said firmly.

“Mr Gold... scares me a bit,” Henry admitted, sheepish and embarrassed. “I'm pretty sure he's evil.”

“He isn't. He's just grumpy a lot. But if you're scared of my husband, then you come to me, or Harry, or Emma, or Doctor Hopper,” Belle amended. “Before you go trying any plan, or running off on any search for clues or answers, and I want you to listen to whatever that grown-up has to say about your idea. You can talk to more than one person, if you think any of us aren't listening to you, but you need to listen to us as well. You need to learn to think of things from more than just one perspective Henry, and talking to us about your plans will help you do that.”

“What's... perspective... mean?” Henry asked.

“Point of view,” Belle clarified. “For instance, from where we stand, the house is big, right?”

“Of course,” Henry agreed, confused as to why he was being asked something so obvious.

“But if you were a giant, then you could probably squish the house flat and never even notice. That's two different perspectives,” Belle explained. “The giant wouldn't be evil for squishing the house, but it's my home, so I might still blame him anyway. Something done without thought can cause a lot of harm. Do you understand Henry?”

The boy nodded.

“Good,” Belle decided with a smile, and picked up her paintbrush again.

~oOo~

“Seriously?” Mary Margaret asked, sceptical, as she brought mugs of hot chocolate from her kitchen bench to the island in the middle of the area.

“I admit, I've heard the same thing,” Emma corroborated as she accepted one of the mugs. “Coma patients can hear what's said to them, even though they're unconscious.”

“I'm not going to ask anybody to just sit and babble at the man though,” Belle said firmly. “I have a house to paint and a husband to reconnect with, Miss Emma has her life to re-organise again -”

“Moving, hurray,” the blonde grumbled into her drink.

“- and you have your regular volunteer duties and your students,” Belle finished, ignoring the interruption. “Aside from that, what do you really say to an unconscious man?”

“I guess... maybe read to him?” Mary Margaret suggested.

With two distinct thumps, Belle brought out the book that had more or less started all of this moving, and a tape recorder.

“That book again,” Emma groaned unhappily.

“Henry thinks he knows who John Doe is in the book,” Belle said. “He's the reason we're all here discussing this in the first place,” she added. “It might as well be this one as any other.”

“So, who is John Doe?” Emma asked.

“One of the princes,” Belle supplied. “Stories in this book that include princes are: Cinderella, Snow White, The Little Mermaid, and Sleeping Beauty. Other stories have cameos, but these ones focus a bit more on the girl-boy-True Love thing. I'll take Cinderella, if you don't mind,” she requested.

“Sure,” Emma agreed, and looked across to Mary Margaret. “You want to read the story that's apparently about you, or do you want one of the other ones?”

Mary Margaret sighed. “I'll read the Snow White story,” she agreed.

“Then I think I can probably handle the fish story,” Emma assented with a wry smirk and a nod.

~oOo~

Arms wrapped warmly about her waist, and as a cane bumped lightly against her leg, Belle smiled to herself.

“Meddling, my love?” Rumple asked with a smile as he pressed kisses to her neck.

“Naturally,” she answered as she tilted her head to the side, an action which gave him better access to more of her neck. “You taught me how, after all.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I did,” he agreed. “And did you have fun?”

“Oh, yes, and some of the fun I've had over the past couple of days, you'll want to  _ see _ ,” she promised. “I've put the memory in the penseive already.”

“Really?” Rumple asked, intrigued. “Must be quite something, that you just went and saved it like that.”

“Mm,” Belle agreed, and then remembered something very important she had learned while in Harry's world. “Rumple,” she whispered. “Would you like a photograph of Bae?”

She felt him go completely rigid behind her.

“The magical people of Harry's world, they invented a camera that takes pictures in a penseive, between the time when you took Harry and I returned with him,” she explained, still whispering, and also offered what comfort she could as she stroked the arms around her middle, an action designed to let him know that she loved him. “I brought one with us.”

“Oh Belle,” Rumple said, and his voice shook with the emotion he felt, the gratitude, the love he felt for her. “Thank you.”

“It's not the only thing I brought of course,” Belle added, letting the moment of deep, ravaging emotion fade. They were good emotions, but so deep that they hurt and shook and made them cry – and Belle was aware that they were outside, where anybody could see them. Not that anyone would. The house was away from the main population and the street was deserted, but Belle jealously guarded these moments with her husband, where he laid himself bare and hid behind none of his masks or reputation.

“What else did you bring back, love?” he asked, lips against her neck as he spoke.

“Dragon-hide clothing,” Belle answered with an entirely cheeky and very suggestive smile.

Her husband barked out a laugh, a Mr Gold sort of laugh, deep and from the stomach, rather than the tittering giggle of Rumplestiltskin that she remembered. A change to get used to, but one that Belle knew she could, especially since, under the right circumstances, she knew she could get him to giggle again.

“You know that Harry has taken the motorcycle,” he said. “It came through with the curse, and was in the garage collecting dust. He's decided that he'll fix it up and use that, rather than getting a car.”

“Well, he knows how to ride it,” Belle pointed out. “So do I, for that matter. Your leg would probably prevent you from being more than a passenger, but could you imagine the shock of all of Storybrooke if they saw you, in dragon-hide leather, riding behind me on that machine down the main street?”

And there was the giggle. The giggle of a man delighted with a cruel, but also harmless and completely amusing trick.

“Let's go inside,” Belle suggested softly, and untangled herself from his arms. “I just know you'll enjoy the memory I've put in the penseive.”

“What happened?” Rumple asked eagerly.

Belle grinned a grin that she had learned from the Dark One himself. “A deal was struck,” she answered coyly.

There was no delighted laughter, or thrilled giggle, to answer that statement. Rather, there was a kiss so burning and consuming that it made Belle's head spin.

“Trouble maker,” Rumple called her when he released her lips from his own, a smile on his face.

“I learned from the best,” she countered happily through her euphoric daze.

Later, Rumplestiltskin howled with proud, delighted laughter as he watched Regina's expression in the penseive at that moment when Belle had said “The deal is struck.” Truly, a moment to be immortalised.


	14. Chapter 14

It had been a day of mostly-undisturbed painting. Most of the township was still stuck in the loop-like rut that the timelessness of the curse inflicted upon them, and besides, the house was out of the way for most people. Henry had come specifically looking for her, and that was the only reason he'd been in the area. It was also why Belle hadn't really worried too much about talking in the open, why she hadn't immediately taken Rumple inside to hide his goodness away like her most precious treasure when he came home the previous night.

Oh, she'd dragged him inside fairly quickly, and she'd kept her voice low when talking to Henry. It was sensible to be cautious, after all.

The distance between the house and central Storybrooke meant that she got a call on her new mobile phone (or as the Americans called it, her cell phone) rather than a personal visit. It was lunch time, and the person calling her was Emma. The blonde had gone into town to get them both a burger from Granny's before returning to help paint some more. The call was to let Belle know that the recorded recitation of the storybook had apparently worked to bring the guy out of his coma, but now he was missing.

Emma was going to join the search for him, and Ruby would be bringing Belle's lunch up to the house.

Belle promised to keep an eye out – both for the John Doe and her lunch – but otherwise wished those who would be actively searching the best of luck.

Belle had other things to think about though. Since she'd done that reading of Princess Ella's story for Charming from Henry's book, the deal her husband had made with the blonde twit had been on Belle's mind.

Had Ella given birth by the time the curse had been enacted? The curse had quite literally frozen them all in time. If Ella hadn't given birth at that time, then the girl would have been pregnant for twenty-eight years. Likely heavily pregnant, with the same baby. Talk about arrested development. With time on the march through the town once more though, then she could be just as likely to pop any day.

And the girl had had plenty of time to get very attached to that little thing growing inside of her belly.

Heck, she'd had plenty of time to get attached back in the Enchanted Forest. Enough time that she'd tried to change her deal with Rumplestiltskin, tried to trick him. Rumple had let her, of course, it was part of his plan to be taken that night, but no one had come away happy that evening, according to the book. Not truly.

Belle hadn't known the details of how the deal had worked out for Princess Ella before. She did now. She had 'saved' her baby from the Dark One, but in exchange she had lost her husband. She should have thought more about those words she had used to try and trick Rumple with.

It was always possible to have more children.

Emma called again a few hours after supper – Belle had snuck a pair of spinning wheels into the lounge room of the house, set them up, and the couple had been spinning, back to back, just enjoying the silent intimacy. Rumple was particularly flattered by Belle's having learned to spin, so that she could feel closer to him while they were apart.

John Doe had been found, was back at the hospital, and according to a woman who claimed to be his wife, his name was David Nolan.

Belle was willing to lay money that Mrs Nolan was that same shrew that King George had been setting up a marriage contract with when Snow and Charming had met.

“Of course,” Rumple agreed. “Regina promised there wouldn't be any happy endings here. She'd have made sure that everybody's misery was properly layered. Why else would she give me a pink house? I got off as lightly as I did because of deals and the respect she has, or had, for me as her teacher, however little that may be.”

“Rumple, I've been thinking,” Belle said softly. “About Princess Ella...”

“Her name is Ashley now,” he offered neutrally. “Ashley Boyd. She's nineteen, and heavily pregnant, despite having already birthed her daughter back in the Enchanted Forest before the curse struck.”

“Mm. I read her story in the book,” Belle offered. “Did she get her Prince Thomas back when Regina cast the curse? As well as that baby back in her belly, and the threat of you taking it hanging over her head?”

“His name is Sean Herman now, and in this life it was his father that approached me to find a 'good and proper home' for the unborn child. To take the baby away,” Rumple explained. “At least, that is what they remember. He forced the lovely couple to part ways as well.”

“What will happen?” Belle asked softly.

Rumple stopped spinning and leant back, his weight solid and warm against Belle's own back, and he leant his head further back still so that it rested on her shoulder.

Belle turned her head to kiss his temple, but she kept her wheel spinning.

“Nothing, I'm sure, worth actually probing the future over,” Rumple said. “Emma is in Storybrooke, eventually she  _ will _ break the curse, and when that's done I'll be able to start searching for Bae. For Ashley and her baby... I am content to let things play out however they will, without using all the resources at my disposal. It was an important deal at the time, for the plans I'd made, but a small matter now, here. I will continue to be the polite but nasty old man throughout, however.”

“Alright,” Belle agreed, and pressed another kiss to his temple. For a while, they remained that way, Belle's lips lingering on her husband's skin. Then they parted, well, as much as they had been apart before, and both resumed their spinning. The soft sounds made by the wheel, and the mesmerising turn kept the pair company until they decided to each retire to their separate bedrooms for the night.

~oOo~

Rumplestiltskin was a creature of many layers, masks, and faces. To the innocent, he was kind. To the foolish, he was disdainful. To the intelligent, he was respectful. To the brave, he was indulgent, comparatively speaking, anyway. Belle had been fortunate in that, when she had given herself to marry him in exchange for the protection of her country, she had been young enough to be considered innocent, but at the same time had displayed both intelligence and a measure of bravery before the great and terrible Dark One.

Furthermore, because he had bound her as his wife in their deal, and as Rumplestiltskin had some experience with relationships (particular ones that failed due to lack of sufficient communication) he had been a great deal more open with Belle about his life story than he would otherwise have been inclined. Because Belle was his wife, and Rumplestiltskin always protected what was his – rather like a dragon guarding its hoard of treasures – he had given her more than any other before her.

He had not, however, intended to give her his heart along the way.

The only comfort to this was that Belle had, in return, given him hers – and without ripping it from her chest first.

If Belle had been older, if he'd taken her as a servant instead of a wife, (if he'd not had Harry about the place looking to him as an example of the sort of person he was to grow up to be), then Rumplestiltskin would have treated the young woman very differently.

He was grateful, really, that things had worked out the way they had, instead of the way they could have.

Generally speaking, anyway. He couldn't say he was entirely thrilled about taking a shot of pepper spray to the face, knocking his head on his counter as he thrashed in pain, and being left on the floor of his shop.

It looked like Ashley Boyd wanted to keep her baby just as much as Princess Ella had, though she was in no position to care for it this time around. In the Enchanted Forest, at least, Ella had been married to her prince and had been carrying a royal baby. She'd be cared for automatically. Here? No such luck.

“Uncle Rum!”

Rumple groaned, and winced.

“Come on Uncle Rum. You're very late coming home and Aunty Belle's worried about you. I'll take you home and she can take care of you, and in the morning I'll go see a glazier about putting in some glass that will be harder for a burglar to break.”

~oOo~

Belle didn't let him leave his bed, where she had tended to him through the night after Harry had brought him home, until she was satisfied that he would be fine – and if in that time he got served his breakfast in bed, well, Rumple wouldn't complain too much about having his beautiful wife dote on him.

When he was permitted to leave the house, he heard Belle organising for scaffolding to be removed from around the building. She had needed it to paint the higher reaches of their home, but she'd finally finished the re-painting yesterday. The almost-black blue certainly looked much better than the pink had, and Rumple knew that Belle was going to start looking through all of his files today – seeing what land and buildings he owned, who owed him money, and which contracts were still in effect from the Enchanted Forest – and how well they'd stand up in a court of law.

But Mr Gold couldn't stay home. He had something to do. He'd sworn to Princess Ella that, no matter what world she found herself in, her baby would be his, and last night she had attacked him.

Still, he wouldn't be going to Sheriff Graham about the matter.

He knocked on Miss Blanchard's door.

“Mr Gold,” she greeted, surprised. And distinctly uncomfortable. It seemed she hadn't forgotten Belle's comment about his having once been a man to wear leather.

“Miss Blanchard,” he returned. “Is Miss Swan here?”

Mary Margaret nodded and stepped aside. “Please come in,” she invited. “We were just about to have a late breakfast, can I get you anything?”

“Thank you, no,” he declined. “My Belle fed me before she let me leave the house.”

Mary Margaret smiled at that.

“Mr Gold,” Emma greeted in turn as he stepped into the apartment. She was kneeling by a pair of cardboard boxes. Her belongings had come from Boston at last. “Hey.”

“Good morning, Miss Swan,” he replied politely. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need your help. I'm looking for someone.”

“Really? Um...”

“I'll leave you to discuss business in private,” Mary Margaret said, and ducked out, collecting her plate of breakfast on the way.

“I have a photo,” Mr Gold said, and removed from his inside jacket pocket a capture from his shop's security feed. “Her name is Ashley Boyd. She broke into my store last night and left with something very valuable.”

“So why don't you call the police?” Emma asked.

“Because the girl is pregnant, alone, probably scared and confused, considering her actions,” he explained. “I don't want to ruin this girl's life, I just...”

“Want back what she took,” Emma finished with an understanding nod. “Can I ask what this valuable thing is?”

“Another advantage of you not being the police is discretion, Miss Swan,” Mr Gold said, denying the young woman an answer on the matter. “Let's just say it's precious, and leave it at that,” he requested.

“Alright,” Emma allowed. “When did you see her last?” she asked next.

“Last night,” Mr Gold supplied, and brushed aside some of the hair that hung by his face. An action that revealed the small cut he'd received to the head when the girl had burgled his shop and attacked him with pepper spray. “That's how I got this,” he said. “And it's so unlike her,” he added, genuinely confused about her behaviour. Ashley Boyd had been hopelessly meek, and as Ella had only tried to trick him out of her baby because someone else had come up with the idea. “She was... so wound up. She said something about... changing her life? I've no idea what got into her.”

At the slightly guilty look that crossed Emma's face, Rumple rather thought  _ she _ knew just what had gotten into the girl. Probably something she herself had said without thinking too much.

“Please Miss Swan,” Mr Gold pressed. “The only other choice is the police, and no one wants to see her baby born in a cell.”

“No, of course not,” Emma agreed.

“So you'll help me then?” he asked.

“I will help her,” Emma answered.

Rumple smiled. Clever girl. “Grand. That's grand,” he thanked her.

“Hey Emma I was thinking we could -” a familiar, young voice said as the door of the apartment was opened without being knocked on first.

Henry stopped rather abruptly though when he saw Mr Gold.

“Hi Henry,” Rumple greeted with a smile. He really did like the boy. “How're you?”

“O...kay,” the boy answered awkwardly, clearly nervous of the old man with the dark suit and cane.

Rumple decided it was probably best he make his exit. “Well, you have a good day,” he instructed the boy lightly, “and good luck, Miss Swan,” he bid, and showed himself out.

“Do you have any idea who that is?” he heard Henry ask through the thin walls.

“Yeah,” Emma's voice came.

“Who? Because I'm still trying to figure it out,” Henry admitted.

Rumple smiled to himself. He knew that Belle had given him their story, and Henry still didn't know who he was. That was somewhat amusing.

~oOo~

Rumple smiled to see Emma drive passed his shop in her yellow bug, Ashley in the front passenger seat, and headed for the hospital. He called Belle to let her know as well. Both of them were interested in the deal, so it was only sensible. This was the deal that had separated them, however willingly Rumple had gone.

He walked through hospital door in time to hear the doctor.

“Miss Swan? The baby is a healthy six-pound girl, and the mother is doing fine.”

“What lovely news,” he declared pleasantly, which drew Emma's attention to him, and seemed to wipe the smile off her face rather quickly. “Excellent work, Miss Swan,” he praised. “Thank you for bringing me my merchandise.”

A hand cuffed his shoulder hard, and he knew the only reason that hadn't been aimed at his head was the injury on his temple that was still carefully hidden by his hair.

“William,” Belle scolded. “That's no way to talk about a baby.”

“It was just a quip,” he defended. “Not serious.”

“A  _ baby _ is your merchandise,” Emma said with a scowl. “Why didn't you tell me?” she demanded lowly. “Did you think I wouldn't take the job?” she guessed, clearly very unhappy with the whole situation.

“On the contrary,” Mr Gold answered. “I'd assume if anybody could understand the reasons for giving up a baby, it would be you,” he said quietly. Henry was, after all, just a few feet away and eavesdropping diligently.

“You're not getting that kid,” Emma declared lowly.

“Actually, we have an agreement. My agreements are always honoured. If not, I'm going to have to involve the police, and that baby's going to end up in the system,” Mr Gold said.

He didn't have the same flair as when he'd been head-to-toe Rumplestiltskin, but having to hold onto a cane, having to live with pain constantly once more, that muted him somewhat. Made him more the smiling shark than the laughing devil.

“And that would be a pity,” Mr Gold continued, his expression contorted to genuine sorrow over such a prospect. He was on a roll though, so it didn't stay long. “You didn't enjoy your time in the system, did you Miss Swan?”

“It's not going to happen,” Emma said firmly.

“I like your confidence,” Mr Gold praised. “Charming. But all I have to do is press charges. She did, after all, break into my shop.”

“Let me guess,” Emma requested dryly. “To steal a contract.”

Mr Gold shrugged. “Who knows what she was after,” he allowed.

“You know no jury in the country will put a woman in jail who's only reason for breaking and entering was to keep her child,” Emma said firmly.

Mr Gold said nothing to that.

“I'm willing to roll the dice that contract doesn't stand up,” she continued. “Are you? Not to mention what might come out about you in the process. We all know that there is more to you than being just a simple pawn broker. You really want to start that fight?” she asked lowly.

Simultaneously, Rumple and Belle smiled, pleased.

“I like you, Miss Swan,” Rumple admitted, still smiling. “You're not afraid of me. That makes you quite unique around these parts. I do believe that I'd like to have you on my side.”

Emma smiled at that. “So she can keep the baby?” she asked.

“I didn't say that,” Mr Gold countered. “There's still the matter of my agreement with Miss Boyd.”

“Tear it up,” Emma suggested bluntly.

“That's not what I do,” Rumple answered instantly. “You see, contracts, deals, well, they're the foundation of all civilised existence. So I put it to you now, if you want Ashley to have that baby, are you willing to make a deal with me?” he asked.

“What do you want?” Emma questioned.

“Oh, I don't know just yet,” Mr Gold whispered dangerously. “You'll owe me a favour.”

Belle bapped him on the shoulder again.

“My love...” Rumple began.

“No, William,” Belle cut in, her mouth twisted in wry amusement. “Miss Emma, a word?” she requested, with a gesture that they have this word away from her husband and Henry.

“Uh, okay...” she agreed dubiously.

~oOo~

“There is a lot more to my husband than his being a simple pawnbroker,” Belle started. “William was married before me, and he had a son. Milah, his first wife, she left when the boy was little more than a toddler. Then, when the boy was a teenager, he decided that he didn't like his father any more, and he ran away. William and I met when he was looking for his boy. He's... still looking for his son.”

Emma frowned. “I'm... sorry to hear that, but I don't see what -”

“William  _ loves _ children, Miss Emma,” Belle said sincerely. “Adores them. He is rarely happier than when he has a child in his arms. He also loves me, loves me enough to marry me when we're not actually sure if I can give him children, however much we both hope that I can.”

Emma's eyes went wide at that, and Belle could see the woman was beginning to get an idea of where this conversation might be going.

“This is the deal, Miss Emma,” Belle said firmly. “When my husband gets a lead on where his son is, you will help him. When Ashley needs a babysitter – and she will, because babies take up a lot of time and effort, to say nothing of money -”

“And Ruby told me that Ashley was taking night classes as well,” Emma agreed.

Belle nodded. “When Ashley needs a babysitter, she'll come to my husband and me. She won't be getting the money that William was going to pay her, as that was in exchange for giving up the child to our custody completely.”

“Let me get this straight,” Emma requested, wrapping her head around the whole mess. “I help Mr Gold find his grown-up son, you're on call for babysitting duty for Ashley, and she gets to keep her kid?”

Belle nodded. “That's the deal. I know my husband, that is the favour he'd most likely have eventually asked you for anyway,” she said firmly. “Well, apart from the babysitting bit, that's just me.”

Emma smiled. “You're a really complicated family,” she said. “You got a deal,” she agreed, and held out her hand to shake on it.

“Do we still have your friendship?” Belle asked as she clasped the other woman's hand in her own.

Emma snorted softly in amusement. “Sure,” she agreed. “Just... Mr Gold in leather on a motorcycle?” she asked.

Belle grinned. “I did say that his son left because he didn't like his dad any more,” she pointed out. “What's more embarrassing to a teenager than their father in skin-tight leather?”

Emma winced in sympathy against the idea. “Fair enough,” she agreed.

“You go tell Ashley she can keep her baby if she lets us babysit,” Belle instructed lightly, shooing the other woman off with a smile. “I'll deal with my husband.”

“Thank you,” Emma said gratefully. She collected Henry and the pair of them went in to see Ashley before they ran out of the hospital. Emma had to get Henry home by five, after all.

“Well, my dear?” Rumple asked as he stepped up beside her.

“We'll have the baby part-time,” Belle answered. “No pay-out on our part, but any time Ashley needs a babysitter, we'll have the child,” she explained. “Emma still likes us, and will help you find Bae when the curse is broken and you can actually leave Storybrooke,” she added softly, just a whisper in his ear.

Rumple looked at her then, and his eyes went glassy.

“Clever, clever woman,” he praised her softly. “My wonderful, incredible wife,” he said, and kissed her softly.

“Belle?” a voice asked, stunned.

The couple parted.

“Belle, is that really you?” a man asked, eyes wide and awed.

“Jefferson?” Belle checked tentatively. “You...?”

The man who had once been known as the Hatter nodded. “Yeah, I remember it all, always did. It was part of my own lot of suffering in this place. When did you get here Belle? Where have you been?” he asked.

“She arrived shortly after Miss Swan,” Rumple explained softly. “Jefferson... gods man, I'm so sorry.”

“What?” Belle asked.

“Grace... Her name is Paige here, and she doesn't know I'm her father,” Jefferson explained. “She lives next door to me.”

Belle wrapped her arms around the man who had been one of Rumple's very few friends back in the Enchanted Forest, offering what comfort she could to the man who, she knew, doted on his little girl.

“She'll remember when the curse is broken,” Rumple promised the man. “She will.”

“And until then, I expect you to visit us often,” Belle informed the much taller man as she released him from the hug. “You're a friend, Jefferson, and we have a lot of catching up to do.”

Jefferson nodded.

“Looks like Sean has decided to defy his father, in the face of being one himself,” Rumple said softly, having spotted the young man who was the father of Ashley's baby enter the hospital with a gift bag in hand.

Belle smiled. “Good,” she said. “That's good.”

“People are starting to get their happy endings back...” Jefferson murmured, and felt hope light up in his heart at the thought.


	15. Chapter 15

Belle and Rumple were having dinner at Granny's with Harry when the whole town gave a great, heaving shake.

“What was that?” Harry asked.

Rumple closed his eyes, to focus on the things he saw without his eyes. “The old mines,” he said softly after a moment. “Cracks are forming in the curse. Some of them more literal than others.”

“Are we going to go have a look?” Harry asked.

Rumple shook his head. “I'll not,” he said. “Save it to read about in the paper tomorrow. But you go ahead, if you want,” he suggested.

Harry nodded and rose from his seat in the booth. Ruby was also leaving the diner behind to find out what was going on, and Harry happily offered her his arm.

It was quite the crater. The mayor's speech was quite something as well, especially for something she must have come up with on the spot.

Harry was much more interested in the little speech the unpleasant woman levelled privately to Doctor Hopper though.

“We need a new treatment plan. Everything I do he thinks is part of some horrible plot. I can't cover up a safety hazard without him thinking I'm hiding something. How am I hiding something terrible in an old mine? How is any of this logical to him?” the woman demanded.

“He's got an amazing imagination,” Doctor Hopper defended softly.

“Yes! That you let run rampant!”

Harry excused himself from Ruby politely to edge subtly closer to the conversation.

“I think it would be rather wrong to rip away the world he's constructed,” Doctor Hopper said. “I'd rather use it to -”

“Sometimes I think you've forgotten,” Regina said, anger blazing in her dark eyes. “You work for me. You're an employee, and I can fire you. This is my town. You will lose your office, lose your house, I can cut you down to size until you're a tiny, shrunken little creature, and this -” she snatched up Doctor Hopper's umbrella. “- will be the only roof over your damn head.”

“What would you have me do?” Doctor Hopper asked sadly.

“You take that delusion out of my son's head, and you crush it,” she instructed, slamming the man's umbrella back into his chest before she walked off.

“Harry?” Ruby called softly.

“Hey,” he answered. “I... I think the psychologist needs someone to talk to about his problems,” he said with a gesture towards where the man was standing, looking completely forlorn and lost.

Ruby smiled. “I bet he could stand to get some cocoa in him as well,” she suggested. “Shall we?”

Harry smiled back. “We shall,” he agreed, and offered the lady his arm.

Ruby giggled a little as she accepted it, and arm in arm they walked up to the despondent professional.

Mr Gold and Belle were still in the diner when Harry, Ruby and the doctor returned from the site – and explained what had happened.

“She doesn't have the power to evict you,” Mr Gold informed Archie Hopper frankly. “You've paid back your mortgage in full, you keep up with your taxes, and Henry isn't your only patient, so you'll still have an income. You are, after all, the only qualified psychologist in Storybrooke,” he pointed out with a vague smile.

“Gives you rather a lot of power, Doctor Hopper,” Belle agreed with a smile.

The man in question blinked in surprise as he digested that information.

~oOo~

A small, crying body slammed blindly into Harry's mid-section, and in reaction Harry wrapped his arms around the slim shoulders of that body.

“Hey,” Harry said, as he gently pulled the small body back from his own – and that was when he spotted the tears. “Hey mate, what's the matter?” Harry asked gently, squatting down so he could look the boy in the eye. “Henry, right?”

The boy nodded, but said nothing.

“I'm Harry Potter,” Harry introduced himself. “I'm Mr Gold's nephew. We met once... for about five seconds, I think,” he said with a depreciating little smile. “Aunty Belle said she gave you the book I wrote though.”

“It was a very good book, Mr Potter,” Henry managed through his sniffles.

Harry smiled a little. “Thanks,” he said as he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and started to wipe the boy's face. “You want to talk about what's bothering you? I'm a good listener,” he offered.

“You know it's true, don't you Mr Potter?” Henry begged. “You don't think I'm crazy, right? The curse  _ is _ real...”

Harry looked around, saw all the general foot-traffic of central Storybrooke, and frowned at it.

“Got somewhere private?” he asked. “This isn't really the best place for that sort of conversation.”

Henry nodded. “I've got a castle down by the beach,” he said.

Harry stood straight and offered the boy his hand. “Lead the way,” he instructed gently.

The beach, with Henry's 'castle', wasn't too far. A good walk out of central Storybrooke, but not too far.

Henry instantly released Harry's hand and climbed up. He even curled up, back in the corner of one of the turrets and legs tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped around them.

“Alright,” Harry said gently as he settled in opposite the ten-year-old. “Start with why you were so upset,” he requested.

“Doctor Hopper thinks I'm crazy,” Henry said. “He said that the curse was a delusion and a psychosis and I'd have to be locked up if I didn't wake up from it. I know he doesn't believe me about the curse, but why would he say that?” Henry demanded, and the tears were back as the boy buried his face in his knees.

“Well, what were you talking about before he said it?” Harry asked gently.

“Going into the mine to get proof,” Henry admitted.

“Then he probably said those things because you scared him,” Harry stated.

Henry sniffed and looked up from his arms. “What do you mean?” Henry asked through his tears.

Harry considered his options for how to explain this, and decided that the kid needed a little extra reassurance, as well as the explanation. He pulled out his wand and conjured a bowl.

Henry's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped.

“Mrs Gold said I had to close my eyes for her to do magic...” the boy said.

Harry smiled sadly. “Were you with other people at the time?” he asked.

Henry nodded. “Both of my moms,” he agreed.

“Then Aunty Belle would have pretended to do magic,” Harry said. “We don't want the mayor to know that magic has been brought to this land, and Miss Swan is still having trouble believing.”

“So Mrs Gold can't do magic?” Henry asked.

Harry shook his head. “She can,” he corrected. “She just doesn't most of the time. But we're off the subject. Why Doctor Hopper said those things to you,” Harry said, and tucked his wand away again. With the bowl in hand, he scooped up some sand from the beach, and picked up a few sticks from the ground. He then used his wand once more, to make the sand and sticks into a sort of copy of the mines before he slipped it away again.

“So, here's the mine you want to explore,” Harry said. “And here's you,” he said, and chose a small stick that hadn't been used in the making of the model. “You go into the mine...” Harry suggested, and walked the little stick in. “You investigate deep down inside,” he continued, and withdrew his hand, leaving the stick in there. “And then, because the mine is unstable, this happens while you're in there,” Harry suggested, and with a light touch to the opening of the mine shaft, the whole front caved in. “You're trapped, underground, and everyone outside who cares about you is worried that you're hurt in there, and may even die before they can find you.”

Harry watched as Henry swallowed tensely at that, eyes wide.

“I... hadn't thought of that,” the boy admitted weakly. “I just wanted to find proof. Wanted to find out what the evil queen is hiding down there...”

“You know, she yelled at Doctor Hopper the other night, because you actually outright asked her what she was hiding,” Harry said.

Henry winced. “She did?”

Harry nodded. “Which is probably another reason that Doctor Hopper said the things he did. Because he was scared of the mayor, as well as scared for you,” he explained.

Henry slumped. “I still want to go down there and find out what she'd hiding,” he grumbled.

“But now you know how much of a bad idea that is, you won't, will you?” Harry asked seriously, and frowned in his most 'responsible adult' way.

Henry shook his head sadly.

“Good,” Harry praised. “Now, I want you to go and apologise to Doctor Hopper for running off on him, and we both need for the mayor to not know that anybody in Storybrooke can do magic,” Harry instructed.

Henry nodded earnestly. “I promise. Wait, this was supposed to be a world without any magic,” he realised. “How did you do magic here? And I thought all magic had a price?”

Harry smirked. “It does. The price for the magic I've done is that I'll be very hungry later. As for how I can do magic... well, maybe Uncle – I mean, Mr Gold will tell you that story, if you ask him,” he suggested.

“Uh...” Henry dithered. “You uncle scares me,” the boy admitted.

Harry chuckled. “He has that effect on people,” the man agreed, “but he likes kids.”

~oOo~

“You don't look at all well Sheriff,” Mr Gold offered to the man who had just stumbled into his shop.

“I'm not sure I am,” agreed the man. “So, please, spare me the jokes all Scots have about Irishmen today?” he requested.

Mr Gold bowed his head in agreement. “Certainly. What else can I do for you?” he asked, ever the businessman.

“Mr Gold, can you remember how we met? Because I can't,” Graham admitted. “I can't remember how I actually met anyone in this town, except for Miss Swan.”

“I'm old enough to be your father, Graham,” Mr Gold said, and it was almost gently. “I'd be surprised if you could remember how we met.”

Graham smiled weakly at that. “You're not that old, Mr Gold,” he offered.

The pawnbroker chuckled at that. “I assure you I am, but thank you.”

“Uh, Mr Gold? Henry said he'd traded with your wife over a book?” Graham queried. “I was wondering... wondering if I'd be able to have a look at the book your wife has?” he asked hopefully.

“Belle!” Mr Gold called into the back of the shop.

From across town, where Belle was reviewing the library's building plans in the office she now shared with her husband in their home, she heard his call and answered it.

She stepped out of the back room of her husband's shop barely five seconds later.

“Yes love?” she asked. “Oh, Sheriff Graham... you don't look too good,” she observed with some concern.

“He was chasing a wolf through the forest before breakfast this morning,” William offered softly to his wife. “And now he's curious about the book you got from Henry.”

“It's at the house,” Belle said. “I'll call that nephew of ours, ask him to fetch the book. While we wait,  _ you _ , Sheriff, are going to sit down and have a cup of tea. And a biscuit. When was the last time you ate?” Belle asked.

Graham shook his head. Honestly, he didn't know. He couldn't seem to keep track of anything today. Not time, not his thoughts, not when he'd last eaten. He felt fortunate he was able to navigate his way from Regina's house to Mr Gold's shop. And he said so.

“I'll call our boy, you make the Irishman a stiff tea,” Mr Gold advised his wife gently, and actually moved to the shop's telephone. With company about, things had to be done in the manner normal to this world. Harry picked up his cell after only two rings.

“ _I'm sorry, but I'm on a date right now -”_ Harry started.

“I'm thrilled for you lad, but your aunt needs a very particular book from the house,” Mr Gold answered. “I've got the shop to mind, and Belle's tending to an unstable sheriff in the back room. Take the lady for a walk with my apologies. I'll give you an extra fifty to spend on your date when you get here.”

“ _Ha!”_ Harry laughed.  _ “Deal,” _ he agreed.  _ “We'll be fifteen minutes. The book's just on Aunty Belle's bedside table, right?” _

“It is.”

~oOo~

A motorcycle roared to a halt in front of Mr Gold's pawnshop, and two figures – both wearing helmets, as per road-safety laws – climbed off.

“I suppose that explains why you said you'd only be fifteen minutes, instead of half an hour,” Gold quipped to his nephew as the young man and his lady walked into the shop.

“Walked up, rode back,” Harry agreed with a grin. “Thanks for letting me have it Uncle Rum,” he added as he passed the book over. “And for keeping it in your garage when the weather's bad.”

“You restored it beautifully, and after coming off it gave me this,” Rumple said with an indication to his bad leg, “well, just be careful,” he requested. “Especially with such a lovely passenger.”

Ruby smiled back happily. She wouldn't have believed it three weeks ago, but Mr Gold was actually nice. It really was amazing the change that came over the man when he had his family around him.

“And as promised, a fifty for taking the time out of your date to make the delivery,” Mr Gold said, and pulled the note out of his wallet. “Go do something frivolously childish,” he advised with a smile. “It is said that anyone can be passionate, but it takes real love, true love, to be able to be silly together.”

“You managed to be pretty silly before I came along,” Belle pointed out as she stepped out of the back of the shop.

“No, love,” Mr Gold countered earnestly as he took one of her hands and pressed it to his heart. “I was foolish, and I always am without you. It's a completely different thing.”

Harry nudged Ruby. “Let's get out of here before they start impersonating Mr and Mrs Addams,” he suggested with a smirk.

Mr Gold promptly raised Belle's hand, previously clutched to his heart, to his lips, and started kissing his way up her arm.

Ruby laughed, though she had the manners to try and stifle it behind one hand.

“I don't even have to speak French,” Belle remarked with a smile, and pulled her arm from her husband's hold. “Be good,” she instructed over her shoulder as she headed to the back, book in hand.

“I don't know if that was directed at you or me Uncle Rum,” Harry admitted with a grin.

Mr Gold huffed a soft laugh. “Go on, get,” he instructed with a smile, and waved to shoo them out of the shop. “Spend the fifty, have fun, and treat the lady like the princess she deserves to be.”

Harry smiled at that, and released Ruby from his arm so that he could bow low to her.

“May I have the honour of escorting the lady?” he requested gallantly.

Ruby laughed. “You may,” she agreed with a bright smile, and slipped her hand into his. “See you around Mr Gold,” she bid as Harry led her out of the shop and back to the motorcycle.

~oOo~

Belle had been reading the book from the beginning, but it was such a hodge-podge mess of convoluted time-lines that it was slow going. With Graham forced into a chair and with a cup of strong tea in his hand (with a shot of brandy in it, rather than milk), Belle was now flicking through the pages and letting him see all the pictures.

“What do you remember?” Belle asked. “You said you saw a wolf. Anything else?”

“I remember Mary Margaret,” Graham said, which prompted Belle to skip over any stories that didn't involve Snow White.

It didn't take long after that.

“That,” he said, stopping her. “What's that? I've seen that...” he said, a finger resting just beneath the crest displayed at the top of the picture.

Belle settled the pages and scanned the text beside the picture. “It's the vault where the evil queen keeps hearts,” Belle answered solemnly. “This story is about the Huntsman, who at this point had just delivered the queen the heart from a deer instead of Snow White, and got his ripped out for it.”

“She killed him?” Graham asked nervously.

“I said she ripped his heart out,” Belle corrected seriously. “I didn't say she killed him.”

Graham, flushed and sweaty and wild-eyed, abruptly lost all the colour in his face.

“The Huntsman was taken, alive, to the evil queen's bedchamber. He had no heart in his chest any more to feel, but as the queen held his heart, she could, and did, use him however she saw fit. All she had to do was squeeze that heart in her hand, and he would suffer. Die, even, if she squeezed hard enough,” Belle explained softly.

“I feel nothing when I'm with Regina,” the young sheriff admitted. “She's got my heart locked up in that vault somewhere, doesn't she?” he asked, and that crazed light returned to his eyes. “I have to get it back!” he said, and attempted to lurch out of the chair.

Belle pushed him back down.

“She does and she can kill you with it,” Belle warned him firmly. “So do not act without thought.”

“Right... you're right, of course,” Graham agreed, but he was tense all over. “I just... I can't do this any more.”

“What would you give to be free?” Rumplestiltskin asked, voice soft and tone insidious as he stepped into the back of his shop. “Everything can be arranged, for a price,” he pointed out.

“I don't... I don't know,” Graham said, and sagged forward hopelessly. “I'll bet I'm not the only one she'd got the heart of in that vault of hers though.”

“Oh, you're quite right,” Rumple agreed. “After all, if she only had one she wouldn't need a vault to keep them all in.”

“I'll owe you a favour,” Graham decided firmly. “I can't think of anything you'd want from me, but I need to get away from Regina, and lately, Mr Gold, you seem to be a much more pleasant prospect.”

Rumple closed his eyes and raised his hands, palm-out. “She moved the vault to below her father's crypt,” Rumple supplied, his voice distant – and high, like it had used to be. “A crypt that she visits regularly. You'll have to be careful if you want to live to make good on that favour. Very careful. But you're a patient man, aren't you, Huntsman?”

“Beneath the crypt. Okay. How do I get down there?” Graham pressed.

“The stairs down are beneath the coffin. You'll have to push it aside to get down there,” Rumple explained, eyes still closed. “Then of course, there's the issue of finding out just which of the hearts in there is yours. She doesn't label them, after all.”

“How do I get  _ my _ heart back then?” Graham begged.

“Bonus deal,” Belle cut in, and picked up a satchel from the floor, casting spells on it silently as she settled it in her lap. “You fit in as many of the hearts Regina has down there as you can in here,” she said. “Bring them to us. We'll figure out which one is yours for you, and guard the rest.”

“In that?” Graham questioned, confused. “How could that fit -”

Belle plunged her arm deep into the purse. It only just looked big enough to hold a small laptop computer. Belle's arm should not have been able to disappear in it up to her shoulder.

“Right,” Graham agreed. “Magic is real? Magic is real. I used to be the Huntsman who spared Snow White's life, and the wolf that was my friend in my past life wants me to find my heart again... Who the hell are you in all this?”

“Now that's information you don't have anything valuable enough to barter for,” Rumple answered with a smirk that wasn't telling any secret he didn't want told. “But do try and figure it out on your own, and take your time getting into Regina's crypt and vault Graham. We'd hate to see you come to a messy end because you rushed things.”

~oOo~

Graham forced himself to calm down, behave as he always had, and take an apologetic step back from Emma.

“You feeling better?” she asked when he came into the office the day after.

“I was feeling worse?” he countered.

Emma raised an eyebrow at him. “I live with Mary Margaret,” she pointed out. “She told me about your visit to her classroom.”

Graham winced. “Alright, yes, I was feeling worse,” he conceded. “So I'm just... I'm going to shut down for a while until I get my head on straight again, I think. I can't stop seeing Regina yet, unfortunately...”

Emma nodded. “Ah,” she said. “That's what it is.”

“I'm essentially her boy-toy,” Graham admitted with a self-depreciating wince. “But... after I talked to Mary Margaret, I had a quick chat with Henry and then went over to the Golds.”

“The Golds?” Emma repeated.

Graham nodded. “Mrs Gold makes a great tea, and mothered me into submission before I even knew what was going on,” he elaborated. “Mr Gold is going to help me get out from under Regina, once and for all, but it's going to take time, and it's got to be done delicately.”

Emma nodded her understanding. “Well, you be careful,” she admonished, worried for him. “And if you need me to cover for you again... ask. Just be honest with me about why,” she requested.

“I promise,” Graham agreed with a smile.

A month of quiet surveillance, and Graham knew that he was essentially safe to approach the crypt any day but Wednesday. So, on a Thursday, he asked Emma to cover for him for the day, and disappeared to the graveyard. Then he disappeared down the stairwell that was right where Mr Gold had said it would be. He swallowed tightly at the sight that greeted him down there, then he started prying open everything and dropping boxes with hearts inside into the bag that was impossibly bigger on the inside than the outside.

He couldn't help but wonder how many people Regina had hurt this way, and who they were. And how hadn't he known sooner?  
The following Wednesday he took the bag to Gold's shop. The man reached his arm in, hummed a moment, and then pulled out one golden box.

“I believe this is yours,” he offered with a smile.

“Thank you, Mr Gold,” Graham said genuinely as he accepted the box. “Erm...”

“Just press the organ to your chest,” he instructed. “It will go in fairly naturally, though it may... sting is the wrong word. You might feel it grating a bit on the way in.”

Graham was eager to follow those instructions, and sighed in relief when it was done. “Thank you, Mr Gold. I really owe you for this,” he said.

“Oh, I know you do.”


	16. Chapter 16

The bell over the shop jingled, and Mr Gold looked up from where he'd been fixing a pot of tea to get him through the afternoon.

“Deputy Swan,” he greeted with a smile. “And...?” he enquired.

“Mr Gold, these are Eva and Nicholas Zimmer,” Emma presented. “I... I know it's presumptuous of me, but I was wondering if you could help them.”

Mr Gold cast a critical eye over the two, and reached for his phone.

“Isobelle, love, could you please drive over to the shop? Deputy Swan has brought in a couple of children that look like they need a bit of mothering,” he requested into the receiver. “Love you too,” he said a moment later, a soft smile on his face, and then he hung up the phone.

“Mr Gold?” the blonde woman enquired.

He smiled back at her. “I am exceedingly aware of my reputation, Deputy Swan,” he said. “And I can tell those two children are afraid I'm going to whisk them off to the back of my shop and turn them into pate for my toast. Isobelle is the one everybody loves.”

Emma smiled. “She's a wonderful person,” she agreed. “Hard not to love her.”

“Well, until she gets here,” he said, and picked up the little plate of biscuits from his tea tray. “I can at least offer you all a shortbread.”

“Man, thank you Mr Gold,” Emma said as she swiped one gratefully. “I haven't had anything since breakfast today. I'm just about running on empty.”

“Never a good idea,” Mr Gold pointed out, and offered the plate to the children.

As Emma had already taken a bite of her biscuit, the two kids were only slightly hesitant – but they hadn't eaten for even longer, so they were quickly gnawing on the shortbread as well. They ate another two after that, and Mr Gold had just poured tea for himself and Emma when Belle stepped into the shop, the car outside already with a baby seat in it.

“Hi,” she greeted her husband with a smile.

He kissed her lightly, just a quick peck, as there were children watching. “Hello,” he answered her happily, then turned to the brother and sister. “Now, this is Mrs Gold,” he presented. “And she's going to see to it that you both have a proper meal, a hot bath, and if you ask her nicely, then she'll probably even read you a story,” he explained.

“William,” Belle called softly as he straightened, having bent to talk to the children. “The framer's are done,” she said, and fished an object out of her purse. An oval frame, simple and gilded, with a picture of a teenager in the middle.

Mr Gold took it reverently.

“And I've set the another copy of the same on the mantle with the other pictures,” she said gently.

He nodded.

Belle kissed his cheek and ushered the children out of his shop.

“Do I dare ask what that is?” Emma asked cautiously.

“It's the last picture I have of my son before... well, before. Isobelle made some copies of it, as the original was falling apart. This one is for my back room here, and another will stay at home with the other family pictures,” he explained, and passed it over.

“Huh,” Emma said. “He looks... Oh god, he looks like -! Mr Gold, what's your son's name?”

“Baelfire,” Mr Gold answered. “His mother picked it. I always called him Bae. I suspect he'd have changed it though, since...”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed. “Yeah, I think he did.”

“Miss Swan?” Mr Gold queried. “Are you alright?”

“No,” she admitted. “This is... a bit much, and there was a reason I came to talk to you today before I got distracted by the picture of your son.”

“Yes,” Mr Gold agreed. “Something about helping those two?”

“Their mother is dead, and there isn't any father that they know about,” Emma explained. “They were stealing toothpaste and toilet paper from the chemist, and since it's Graham's day off, I was the one who got called in. The system isn't great at the best of times, and the two of them? They'd get split up faster than you can say foster care.”

“Do you want me to find their father? Or do you want me to adopt them?” Mr Gold asked with a smile.

“I don't know what sort of person their father is,” Emma confessed. “So I don't know if that would be what's best for them... but you do seem to know everyone. I thought of taking them back to the apartment I share with Mary Margaret, she knows most of the kids, but I'm looking for an adult, and you know more of what-all goes on in this town than the mayor and Mary Margaret put together.”

Mr Gold chuckled at the expression, all the same... “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, I do know everyone, and I've lived here for a very long time. Michael Tillman is the man you're looking for. Nicholas is the spitting image of his father.”

“Thank you, Mr Gold,” Emma said sincerely.

“You're welcome, but it's your own task to convince him to take them. Now, before you go, may I ask who you think this picture of my son looks like?” he asked, and the question was asked with an almost dangerous sort of desperation. “I know Bae got his looks from his mother, rather than me, so don't try and wiggle out of an explanation that way.”

“Henry,” Emma answered. “I never saw any childhood pictures of his father, but this?” she said with a gesture to the frame. “This looks an awful lot like Henry. Which makes me suspect that...”

“Miss Swan, are you telling me... that Henry might be my grandson?” Rumplestiltskin asked hoarsely.

“See if the hospital will give you a DNA test,” Emma suggested, aware that the tears she saw forming in Mr Gold's eyes were likely a match for the prickling she felt at her own. “If you are... then... then we'll sit down over some of Isobelle's cocoa and cookies, and we'll figure out where to go from there.”

Mr Gold nodded, but his throat was too tight to say anything more. He closed up his shop and headed for the hospital as soon as Miss Swan left to seek out Mr Tillman.

~oOo~

“Doctor Whale,” Mr Gold summoned shortly.

“Mr Gold,” the doctor answered with only a slight stammer. “What brings you to Storybrooke General Hospital?”

“You're Henry's doctor, correct?” Mr Gold asked.

Dr Whale twitched a little, giving the powerful man an askance look. “I am,” he agreed cautiously, “but any medical records he has are strictly -”

“No no,” Mr Gold cut the man off. “I just wanted to know if you have a sample of his DNA on file?”

“Why?” the man asked warily.

Mr Gold smiled, and it was as shark-like as it could be without actually showing off any teeth.

“I'd like a comparison made,” he requested. “His biological mother saw an old photograph of my son in my shop today, and suggested that I might be Henry's grandfather.”

“You -?!” Dr Whale seemed to choke on the words.

“I trust this is something you  _ won't _ be sharing with Regina,” Mr Gold said, politely even, though he did flash his teeth in a threatening sort of way. Then again, Victor Frankenstein's heart was one that Regina had kept in her vault, and one that Graham had retrieved to Rumplestiltskin. He had no idea when she'd taken it, but it was his now.

Dr Whale stuttered and stammered a moment, but ultimately agreed.

A sample of Mr Gold's blood was taken, and then he stood over the doctor as he ran the sample through the computer, giving this particular task priority over everything else. As he compared Mr Gold's sample to Henry's.

“Dear God, it's true,” Dr Whale breathed, shocked, when the results were finalised.

That was all he needed to hear.

He pulled out his phone and called Emma immediately.

“ _Yeah?”_

“Confirmed,” he said.

“ _What's confirm- oh. Oh shit.”_

“Miss Swan, would you like to join my wife and myself, and possibly my nephew, for dinner tonight? I believe we have much to discuss,” he requested.

“ _Yeah,”_ Emma agreed from the other end of the line.  _ “Yeah, I guess we do. I'll be over about... seven? Is that alright?” _

“Seven will be perfect, Miss Swan,” Mr Gold assured her.

~oOo~

Belle had made sure that Michael Tillman knew that, if he ever needed someone to watch the twins (that had actually been a slightly surprising detail, given their incredibly different looks), she was happy to do so. She had also returned a sleeping Alexandra to Ashley with a smile two hours ago, and received a call from her husband.

They'd be having Emma over for dinner tonight. They'd be discussing Bae.

Belle stopped by the butcher's and purchased some deer meat for roasting before returning to the house. As one princess entertaining another, the meal had to be superb. Even if the latter princess didn't know of her station.

Which actually raised an interesting collection of thoughts in Belle's mind. Eventually... eventually it was likely that they'd all return to the Enchanted Forest. Emma would be recognised as Princess Emma even before that, when the curse was broken, and she'd need to know something about the expected conduct of royalty for the realm she was heir to.

And she'd been raised in the system.

Which really put her roughly on par with a lot of other princesses, actually. Snow White had been made into an outlaw between being princess and becoming queen. Ella had been shunted from beloved daughter of her father to servant of her step-mother and step-sisters. Aurora probably had it the easiest, only being thrown into an enchanted sleep. Ariel had traded her voice for legs, which she hadn't even gotten to keep initially – and she still didn't have her voice back, though she did have her legs now, and worked in a jewellery shop in Storybrooke.

A mermaid would have stuck out too much.

Belle herself had been given in marriage to the Dark One to save her country from the ogres, and from there had learned magic and gone on 'adventures' to assist in her husband's arrangement of their world.

All the world's a stage, the Bard said, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits, and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.

But what was a stage full of actors without a director? Without a stage manager? Well, those roles had been filled by Rumplestiltskin, and his wife Belle when he declared her well studied enough to be safe beyond the protections of his castle.

~oOo~

“I just realised,” Emma said as she crossed the threshold. “I've never actually been  _ in _ your house. I've helped paint the outside, and I came by to pay back the bail money, but...”

“Most of Storybrooke hasn't seen inside my home,” Mr Gold answered with a slight smile as he closed the front door behind her. “Don't worry your head over it dearie.”

“Feel free to take off your jacket and make yourself comfortable,” Belle offered from just down the hall. “And yes, Husband, I mean you as well. If you don't, then I will.”

“How does she turn 'make yourself comfortable' into a threat?” Emma asked Mr Gold, amused, even as she pulled off her jacket.

“Just hang it there dearie,” Mr Gold said, with a wave to a line of coat hooks by the door. “And it sounds like a threat because she's not talking about my clothing,” he added with an indication towards his own person.

He wasn't wearing his usual suit jacket. He had on his tie still, and a vest over the top, but his suit jacket was nowhere to be seen. It was the most casual she'd ever seen him, Emma realised, and she'd seen him wearing an apron a couple of times. Over the top of his suit jacket.

“Then what  _ is _ she talking about?” Emma asked cautiously.

Mr Gold smiled a little sheepishly. “My bad leg,” he said. “And I quite like her fussing over it, so I don't mind her threats to that matter. But tell me,” he requested as he led her further into the house. “Has Henry figured out who I am in the book yet?”  
“No,” Emma answered frankly. “He's pretty sure you're evil though,” she added with a smirk.

Rumple chuckled lowly at that. “Well, I'm no paragon of virtue,” he allowed, “but I think evil is a bit far.”

“Is your nephew going to be joining the party?” Emma asked as they reached the dining room, which was attached to the kitchen – the door between the two rooms wide open.

“Am I late?” a voice called from the door.

“Speak of the devil,” Emma muttered.

“I trust that answers your question, Miss Swan,” Mr Gold said with a smile. “No, Harry, you're not late. You're just the last to arrive.”

“Ah, not so grievous a misstep then,” Harry sighed as he jogged lightly up to them with a smile on his face. “So, is dinner ready immediately? Or do we have the time to give Miss Emma a tour?”

“Eat now, tour after,” Belle answered firmly as she came out of the kitchen, a green apron just like her husband's (it  _ was _ her husband's) over her blue dress, and a platter in her hands with the roast upon it. “Care to carve, love?” she offered as she set the venison on the dining table.

Rumplestiltskin grinned, and with a flourish, the appropriate carving implements appeared in his left hand – his right still being occupied with his cane.

Belle frowned. “What did I say?” she demanded lowly.

“That you would force comfort on me if I didn't do it myself, love,” he answered with an innocent, hopeful, teasing little smile.

Belle rolled her eyes. “Men,” she complained in Emma's direction, and flicked her hand at her husband's leg and cane.

The cane was banished in a puff of gold. A cloud of the same colour formed around the man's ankle and knee, seeped in, and a shimmering gleam stayed there. Rumple moaned softly in gratitude.

“That feels better,” he agreed, and walked without even a hint of his limp up to where Belle had set the meat to carve it.

Emma's jaw worked open and closed, and open and closed again, until, finally, “What?”

“We regret to inform you, Miss Swan, but your son is more right, and wrong, about this whole town than even he knows,” Harry said apologetically.

“Wha- no, please, start at the beginning,” Emma requested.

“That'll make it a long story, dearie,” Rumple said as he carved the meat.

“Have a seat Emma, please,” Belle requested. “We can all talk while we dine, and if the story runs longer than the meal -”

“Which it probably will,” Harry interjected.

Belle shot him a look for interrupting her, as she always did when he did that. “- Then we'll continue the conversation in the lounge room over coffee and biscuits,” she said, and bustled out of the dining room to fetch the rest of the food.

Harry helped Emma into a chair before he followed Belle into the kitchen to help carry the food out, which left Rumple to start telling the story.

“I suppose the beginning, the very beginning of the story, comes with the ogres war,” Rumple began. “I could probably start it even earlier, actually,” he admitted. “Perhaps I even should. Yes, before even the ogre wars began to ravage the land, when I was just a little boy, my father sold me to some spinners. I was to learn their trade, and he would have money to get drunk, but I was a naïve child back then, and just wanted to be with my Papa...”


	17. Chapter 17

There was a glass of red wine in one of her hands, though she would take coffee next, and she was watching Rumplestiltskin at his spinning wheel. Belle was winding the gold into a ball as he spun it, and Harry was dunking a biscuit in his coffee as he sat across from her.

“You're really Rumplestiltskin,” Emma muttered as she watched the wool being spun into gold. “I thought the stories said you spun straw into gold though,” she said with a frown.

“I can,” Rumple agreed. “But wool makes for a finer thread than straw.”

“And you're seriously okay with all the messed up stuff he's done?” Emma directed that question to Belle.

“I wasn't at first,” she admitted. “But I was signed away to be his bride when I was thirteen. I had plenty of time to adjust to all this knowledge, which,” she added with a rueful smile, “he was kind enough to give me in much smaller portions. There's also the fact that I grew up hearing whispered stories about the horrible things that the Dark One did, and it was really a great relief to finally know all the facts apart from the rumours, even if some of the facts were horrible. To say nothing of his way with children.”

“Uncle Rum was the best uncle any kid could ask for,” Harry asserted calmly.

“I just had to have felt the loss of my own son for some three hundred years, and make a very specific deal with your mother, first,” Rumple quipped.

Harry grinned.

“I believe that's your cue to start with story-time,” Belle said lowly to Emma. “Since we're through telling ours now.”

“Neal Cassidy,” Emma said. “Henry's father goes by the name of Neal Cassidy. I met him when I was stealing a bright yellow bug that he'd already stolen from someone else. He was asleep in the back of it.”

“The same car you still drive?” Harry asked.

“That's the one,” Emma agreed with a sigh. She swallowed down some of her drink, and launched into the tale of her whirlwind relationship with Neal Cassidy, father of Henry, son of Rumplestiltskin.

And maybe, when she was done, she'd know how to answer Henry's questions about who his dad was.

~oOo~

“I had a thought,” Belle said as she closed the shop door behind her, a large paper bag with burgers and chips cradled against her chest. Lunch from Granny's.

“I hardly find that surprising, love,” Rumple countered with a smile. “What was your thought?”

“Did we ever get around to actually breaking your curse?” Belle asked curiously as she set out their lunches on the countertop. “Because I don't think we did.”

Rumple smiled. “I'm not the Dark One here,” he explained, “even though magic exists here now. No, we haven't broken my curse, but at the moment it isn't active enough to be broken. What has you thinking of that?”

“There's a new person in town, August Booth,” Belle explained.

“I've heard,” Gold agreed. “Been here for almost a week now.”

“He's got a book, like the one I got from Henry, only it's about  _ you _ , love,” Belle said. “It even has details about your dagger.”

Rumple's eyes went wide in his face.

“It's safe,” Belle assured him, and touched the locket around her neck where the dagger was kept, in an expanded space behind a tiny picture of Harry as a child. Pinned on the opposite face of the locket were two locks of hair – one of Belle's, and one of Rumple's. Their little family. The locket was layered with protections that meant only Belle and Rumple could open it, and covered with wards and spells from Harry's world as well, one of which meant that only they two know that the locket could even be opened, and only Rumple could tell anybody that secret. Which he wouldn't.

The dagger, still in the possession of Rumplestiltskin, even though it is hidden about the neck of his wife, was very, very safe.

“I know love,” Rumple answered.

“My thought was that it might be useful to have a decoy,” Belle said. “A fake, just in case anybody nasty decided they wanted control of the Dark One.”

Rumple frowned a moment, as he always did when thinking particularly heavy thoughts, and he nodded. “It's a good idea,” he agreed. “I'll start on it tonight.”

The shop door was flung open then, and Henry stood in the frame of light, panting and staring at them.

“Is it true?” the boy asked.

“Is what true, Henry?” Mr Gold questioned gently.

“Are you really my grandfather?” Henry demanded.

Belle saw all the subtle changes in her husband's carriage that meant he was both taken by surprise (a hard thing to achieve) and deeply, emotionally touched. And possibly terrified.

He nodded, a silent answer all he was able to give, for his voice had deserted him in the face of his grandson's question.

“And are you really Rumplestiltskin?” Henry pressed. “The Dark One, who can spin straw into gold?”

“Not so much the Dark One,” Rumple managed to choke out. “Not at the moment, anyway. That curse became dormant when I came to this land, but the rest is true.”

~oOo~

It was a lot of work, keeping Mary Margaret Blanchard from David Nolan. She was willing enough to be kept away. She knew it was a bad idea to get involved with a married man. The problem came in with the man himself. He had amnesia, had forgotten his whole life. It was hardly surprising that he forgot he was married along with everything else.

At first.

But having been told he had a wife, having met the woman, having _gone home with her_ , he really had no more excuses for forgetting that detail.

Mrs Isobelle Gold, in the few short months she had been in Storybooke, had firmly established herself as a woman as warm, tender, caring and giving as her husband was known to be cold, cynical, bitter and grasping. The general theory when people whispered was that opposites really must attract, since most people hadn't gotten to see the way Mr Gold was when he was around his wife – the list was exactly three women long, outside of the Gold family, and not one of them was going to talk about it.

They still couldn't get their heads around the concept of Mr Gold wearing leather pants and owning a motorcycle. Not even when Ruby had been given more than one ride on that same bike by the man's nephew, Harry. Actually, it was probably mostly the leather trousers that they couldn't take in.

Mrs Gold also made it her business to be friends with everybody, or at least friendly, to counterpoint the way her husband had everybody in town (save two of those three women, the school teacher still trembled in her cardigans) held in a tight first of terror. The couple have certain manners in common though.

While Mr Gold might say something horrible with his pleasant tone and polite words, he'd yell if his temper was set off. Mrs Gold used the same pleasant tone and polite words instead of yelling, though she could be quite biting if she felt the need.

Isobelle Gold was all politeness when she knocked on the door of Kathryn Nolan's home at three in the afternoon, a genuine basket of home-baked cookies hanging over one arm, and asked the other woman if she would care for some company and conversation. Which, admittedly, is a polite way of inviting herself into someone else's home, but there were a few things that needed to be discussed with the woman who was once Princess Abigail, daughter of King Midas.

“I have no taste for soap opera,” Mrs Gold confessed frankly as they sipped tea together in Kathryn's lounge room. “Nor for those who insist upon acting it out, regardless of the wishes of others.”

“I'm... confused,” Kathryn confessed, and set her cup down on its saucer.

“Maybe dear, maybe you are. It is certain, however, that your husband is,” Isobelle informed the blonde, not unfeelingly. “He can't seem to remember that he's a married man, and it has been making a friend of mine most uncomfortable lately. She asked me to, as a third party, discuss the matter with you.”

“David is...?” Kathryn asked weakly.

“Following another woman around like a puppy, however much she tries to avoid him for the sake of your marriage. She admires _you_ greatly, Mrs Nolan,” Belle explained, as gently as she could, but it was such a delicate matter it was almost impossible. “And like the rest of the town, would simply love to know how you make those dark chocolate samosas of yours,” she added more lightly.

That at least startled a laugh out of the blonde woman across the table from her.

“They were an accident, the first time I made them,” Kathryn admitted with a weak – but importantly present – smile. Then sighed, bent forward over her tea, and started to sob. “He was leaving me before the accident that put him in hospital,” she admitted through her tears. “And when he didn't remember anything, I thought... I thought this was a chance to start over. But it's not working, is it?”

“Not if you're crying into your tea over it,” Belle said gently, and shifted to wrap the other woman up in a comforting hug. “So the man was leaving. He's an idiot if he wants to look at someone other than the wonderful woman who makes dark chocolate samosas. But you know what? I'm sure, if you wanted, we could find you someone who will appreciate you, love you, adore and worship you, treat you like a princess. Someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“I want my marriage to work,” Kathryn said weakly, “but... I want that, what you were talking about, and as sweet as David is... he can't remember anything. Not really. I know he's lying to me when he says he does. I could handle that. But this? No, I can't handle the idea of him looking at someone else while he's married to me on top of that,” she confessed.

“And you shouldn't have to. No one should. We all want to find True Love, and some of us get lucky and actually find it the first time. I did, but I'm my husband's second wife,” Belle admitted.

“You are?” Kathryn asked, surprised.

“Oh yes,” Belle agreed with a smile. “His first wife took every bit of cash they had at the time and ran off with a sailor. I mended my William's heart as best I could, so I know all about this sort of mess,” she explained kindly. “Don't you worry though. My husband is the best lawyer in Storybrooke, and I'll have him on _your_ side if you decide to divorce your wandering husband. William cannot abide disloyalty. Then, I'm sure we can set you up with a nice man who will treat you right. Mary Margaret knows a few single men, and Ruby knows the rest,” Belle offered with a sisterly sort of conspiratorial grin.

Kathryn choked on a laugh, but nodded in agreement. “I'll talk to David about a divorce when he comes back from his physical therapy session tonight,” she decided.


	18. Chapter 18

Emma had promised Isobelle Gold that she would help to find William Gold's son, and she meant it with every fibre of her being. Then she found out that William Gold's son was Neal Cassidy, and suddenly this particular favour is both a much more frightening and thrilling prospect. She knew, now, that Rumplestiltskin would have used magic to track down his son, but would still have needed her help to navigate the world beyond Storybrooke.

But Emma knows who she's looking for, and she's found complete strangers across the country with just their names. She's gotten them to come to her too – the last one under the guise of a blind date, the night that Henry found her.

She tracked down his current address, she found out his email and his cell phone number, and for all her fear over ripping open that particular old wound (because as sweet as Graham is, they'd actually settled into being completely platonic during that month of intense focus he had after a day of being feverish and frightening people as he ran around town), she makes contact.

An email. Subject line: Emma Swan. She's fairly sure that will make sure he reads it.

The email she sent him isn't really polite. She told Mary Margaret she wasn't sentimental when her few boxes of stuff arrived from Boston, but... she actually is. She just doesn't have much to be sentimental over.

Neal is connected to all but one of those few things. The necklace she always wears is one that he gave her. The beat up bug that she still drives, that was the car they met in.

But he'd set her up to take the fall for those watches, and she'd had Henry in a cell because of that, so she wants to damn well know why – and that's what she put in the email she sent him.

The email she sent also included details like the fact she was now deputy sheriff in a place called Storybrooke because the son – their son – that she gave up for adoption had showed up and dragged her there.

If there is one thing she has learned about the Rumplestiltskin family, and Emma is fairly sure she's learned quite a bit more than most people, it is that family is important to them. It is important to every person in that family because Rumplestiltskin values it so highly – and he values it so highly because his own father didn't.

Emma is part of that family now, because she is Henry's mother, and she shares Rumplestiltskin's values on the matter. She might also be the child of Snow White and Charming, but Rumplestiltskin actually played matchmaker for them, as much as everything else he did to them, so no one holds against her that she is a child of _Twoo Wuv_. Even if she thinks that maybe this family – with all its moral ambiguity – shouldn't welcome her as much as it does.

But maybe that's just the cynicism she'd cultivated by having been raised in the System talking. Her flat-out disbelief that anyone would actually want her. But they do.

And, about a week after Emma had sent that email and gotten no reply of any kind, Neal Cassidy arrived in Storybrooke.

Since Emma's email said she was working as the deputy, he went straight to the police station – which Emma herself had just been leaving. It was lunch time, according to her stomach.

“Neal,” she breathed out the name in shock, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of the man that owned the name.

“Emma,” he greeted in turn, and his voice was a bit hoarse.

“I was just going for lunch,” she said, rather than giving an inane, obvious “you're here” sort of comment. “Want to come?” she offered. “Granny's does the best burgers I've ever had.”

“That sounds great,” Neal agreed.

It was Wednesday, so Emma didn't have to worry about Henry showing up for a couple more hours, however, there was the distinct possibility that Harry and/or the Golds would be having lunch at Granny's as well, and Belle would probably be babysitting for Ashley at the same time. The Bed and Breakfast the old woman ran nearly haemorrhaged money, except that it was so generally cheap to keep up – and it was the old woman's home as well – but the attached diner ran plenty of profit.

There were a _lot_ of people in Storybrooke who couldn't cook anything more complicated than toast to save themselves, and most of them liked to both start and end their days with a hot meal. Granny got nearly all of their custom, because she really did have a way in the kitchen that Emma might have genuinely suspected as magical, except that the Golds had all assured her that, apart from themselves, Jefferson (who she had only briefly met) and potentially her, Regina was the only person in town able to use the stuff. No one else even remembered it was real.

That's where her curse-breaking would have to come in, eventually.

Gold had explained about Maleficent, trapped in her dragon form beneath the library, and that dragon-slaying wasn't something she should just rush into, whatever genetics she had on her side in regards to that matter. That sort of advice, Emma was more than glad to heed. She was even happier to learn that slaying the dragon wasn't actually necessary for breaking the curse. Kissing was. Dragon slaying just, apparently, made the kissing more potent.

Apparently it was _always_ kisses that broke curses back in the Enchanted Forest. Well, a bit more than half the time, anyway. True Love's Kiss was considered pretty much the ultimate fail-safe against any curse, the trick was actually having True Love – and for people who weren't sure that would work for them, then they had to go looking for other cures.

But, lunch. And the distinct possibility that Neal would see his dad and proceed to head for the hills all over again, without even staying long enough to meet his kid after school.

“So, I saw the old bug,” Neal offered, trying to make conversation. “I guess August gave you the keys and the cash I left for you when I, uh, disappeared, at least.”

“Cash?” Emma repeated, surprised, even as her eyes zeroed in on the man who had shown up in Storybrooke out of the blue a few weeks ago, and had been very mysterious about exactly what he was doing in the town that, on any map of the country, didn't actually exist.

August Booth twitched into rigidity where he was sitting, back to the door.

And then something no one would have credited happens.

Harry, sweet, gentlemanly, polite (rides a motorbike) Harry Potter was suddenly leaning dangerously over August Boot, when he'd been across the room not two seconds ago.

“Did I mistake what I just heard and saw, Mr Booth?” Harry growled dangerously into the face of the older man. “Did you _steal_ from my family? Did you _break a deal_?” he snarled.

“Woah!” Emma yelled, and pulled the green-eyed man back. “It was ten years ago. The statute of limitations is well and truly passed,” she scolded. “Ruby?” she called.

The waitress came and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend, and gently pulled him away and back to where he had been enjoying one of her grandmother's famous burgers.

“I'll shortsheet his bed later,” she promised him in a whisper.

“You'll charge him double for his room and all his meals is what you'll do,” Harry muttered back.

Ruby chuckled. “Maybe,” she agreed.

“Uh, much as I agree with the sentiment,” Neal started. “Who was that? And what was he saying about family?”

Emma winced. “It's complicated,” she admitted as she sat down at one of the tables, “and not really a conversation for Granny's diner. Here,” she said, and grabbed one of the napkins off the table with one hand while she pulled a pen out of a pocket with the other. She wrote down Gold's address. “Dinner,” she said. “Tonight, seven o'clock. I'll see if I can't talk Regina into letting Henry be there too,” she offered. “Regina being the woman who adopted Henry ten years ago.”

Neal nodded in agreement, and tucked the napkin away.

“I hope that napkin doesn't have your apartment address on it,” Harry called over, not even turning from his meal.

“No, it doesn't,” Emma answered. “I'm counting on your aunt's cooking skills to help this whole conversation go less-terribly.”

“I'll let her know,” Harry agreed.

“Thanks.”

Neal raised an eyebrow at the exchange.

“And that's why this conversation isn't for the diner, even if dining with the family means having to dress a bit more formally than usual,” Emma stated frankly. “Tell Ruby here what you want to eat, then tell me what you've been up to, these past ten years,” she requested.

Ruby had appeared at their table about the same time as Emma had said her name. No magic needed, she was just that good (and that experienced) a waitress.

“Usual for you, Deputy Swan?” Ruby asked with a smile, while Neal fumbled for the laminated menu that was on the table.

“Can I have a coffee with it today? Black and strong? I'll take my usual cocoa to go,” Emma requested.

Ruby nodded and made a note. “You got it,” she agreed with a smile. “And what about the handsome stranger?” she asked. “Neal, was it?”

“Ruby, this is Neal Cassidy,” Emma presented. “And Harry can fill you in on more than that later, out the back where no one will hear.”

Ruby's answering smile was damn near wolf-like, but Emma just rolled her eyes at it.

“Burger and fries, and a coffee sounds good to me too,” Neal decided quickly.

“So, the missing ten years,” Emma requested. “You first.”

“I was actually just about to go shopping for an engagement ring when I got your email,” Neal admitted sheepishly. “But when I just saw your name... I couldn't even look at her, let alone think of looking at rings. God Emma, I'm so sorry...”

Emma shrugged with a nonchalance she didn't totally feel. “It's done,” she declared. “I could call you a bastard all I wanted, but that wouldn't change anything.”

~oOo~

As far as Regina knew, Henry was just having dinner with Emma and Mary Margaret in the apartment that was owned by the latter. The grapevine had been rather more interested in the concept that August Booth might have actually _stolen_ from Mr Gold – and yet still walked around Storybrooke calmly and generally without being accosted. There was also the issue of Kathryn Nolan divorcing her husband finally having leaked into the public ear.

In truth, Henry was enjoying getting dressed up with Mr Potter – Harry had explained that he wasn't actually any blood relation to Henry's family, and was actually adopted, but that Henry was free to call him Uncle Harry or Mr Potter as he pleased – ready to have dinner.

Mrs Gold had pointed out that, since he was the son of both a princess and a queen, then he was most certainly royalty, and he should know how to comport himself as such. While Mr Potter made sure Henry's dinner clothes were straight, Mrs Gold was doing the same for Emma in another room.

“Yes, there have been princesses, myself and your mother among them, who wore trousers. Regina certainly owned more than a couple of pairs of skin-tight breeches, but she was very fond of horse riding, which excused that. The fashion was mostly gowns though. You will be expected to behave a certain way at official functions. Functions, be they feasts or balls or meetings of state, for which you will most certainly be forced into firm underpinnings and a large gown, and then expected to not trip over your hem,” Belle said firmly. Then she sighed. “Which is always easier if the underpinnings keep the hem away from your feet, rather than just adding a swathe more of extra hems to get in the way.”

Emma's only consolation was that she wasn't expected to take dinner in a ballgown. That was saved for the dancing lessons. Another mitigating factor on this particular night was that Neal was coming to dinner, which meant that things would be a lot more understated, even if they would still be quite formal and very proper.

They were even teaching her magic, when she had time off work and Henry was occupied elsewhere, and Emma wasn't sure which of all her lessons from the Golds ranked higher on the weird-o-meter.

So there she was, in a simple, deep blue, knee-length cocktail dress. Not a ball gown, or in fact a gown of any kind, thank heavens, and the only reason she got a cocktail dress rather than an evening gown was because Belle was concious of not over-doing it on the Enchanted Forest throw-backs with Neal there. The next thing to do was help Belle out in the kitchen. _Belle_ was wearing a more modest frock, though it was fitted just as tightly as Emma's own, that was a dark green with gold trim. And an apron. A pale blue apron with a frill across the bottom. The one that Emma had been given was pink. Belle had finally gotten around to buying some aprons for the house beyond her husband's green everything-proof ones.

“When did this become my life?” Emma grumbled under her breath as she stirred the gravy on the stove.

“Look at it this way,” Belle offered with a smile as she carefully whipped the cream that would be served with dessert. “You're finally learning how to actually cook.”

“Well, that's true I guess,” Emma allowed. She'd been living off frozen dinners, fast food, baked goods and the occasional trip to a restaurant for so long... if it wasn't cooked by pouring boiling water over it or sticking it in either a toaster or a microwave, Emma really hadn't known how to deal with it.

And (before Belle's cooking lessons) she still got defeated by the appliances more often than she liked to admit.

“How's Dad?” Emma asked, willing to change the subject.

Belle smiled. Emma hadn't ever married Baelfire, and she knew who was her father now, but she was far too close to the same age as Charming to be entirely comfortable giving him that title. The day Emma has asked if she could call Rumple 'Dad' in private, since he was almost her father-in-law (the 'almost' was both a very important and very deliberately ignored fact), had been a wonderful one for Rumplestiltskin.

Emma wasn't about to start calling Belle 'Ma' though. She had a hard enough time living with Mary Margaret, who really was her mother but also now the same age as her and didn't remember ever being pregnant, let alone having a kid. But Belle understood that just fine.

“A nervous wreck,” Belle replied easily. “He's been at the spinning wheel almost constantly since you called to let us know about our extra dinner guests. I had to physically drag him up the stairs to get ready for dinner, and -” she raised a finger to her lips and cupped her ear.

A faint creaking sound reached them from a short way down the hall.

Emma scoffed fondly. “He's back at it,” she noted, amused. “Is he spinning gold, or regular thread?” she asked.

“Actually, he's working on spinning silver,” Belle admitted with a rueful smile. “Says the different properties are needed for some of his potions, but I think he's really doing it so he can give you, me and Ruby matching silver jewellery for Christmas. I'm also pretty sure that if he doesn't manage to get it right by the end of the week, he'll give in and give us all gold jewellery instead.”

Emma smiled. The holiday was certainly coming up fast, and for once she thought she might actually be looking forward to it. Then she frowned. “Wait, I thought werewolves couldn't touch silver,” she said. “And isn't Ruby...?”

“Ruby _was_ ,” Belle corrected. “She's not any more, and touching silver wouldn't kill her if she still was a werewolf. When the curse breaks, you can ask Granny for the details. She lived long enough that it faded until the only thing she still had was an enhanced sense of smell.”

“The transformation... fades over time?” Emma guessed.

“Like I said,” Belle reiterated. “Ask Granny after the curse is broken, since you don't really have a lot of leisure time for reading, and I don't think Graham would necessarily take it the best way for you to be reading up about werewolves and what can hurt them.”

Emma chuckled at that. Working with one of the few people who remembered, and that person being _the Huntsman_ (who was raised by wolves), it could certainly get interesting sometimes. It got even better when he started trying to compete with Harry for Ruby's affections. Man raised by wolves develops a crush on the wolf-girl. Harry, for as much as he enjoyed Ruby's company, was taking the high road and bowing out gracefully – but slowly, even though he and Ruby had decided together that, as fun as it was to be together, they didn't actually have a lot in common. Harry had to make sure the Huntsman would be good to Ruby though.

Then again, considering his opinion on wolves that was almost a given, even if Ruby didn't remember being a werewolf at the moment.

All thoughts of werewolves and huntsmen were interrupted – and any potential thoughts of who to set Harry up with were prevented – as at that moment there was a knock at the door.

“I'll get it!” Henry called happily.

“You will do no such thing young man!” Emma called right back – using the sort of language she'd been learning in preparation for being a princess, as opposed to just yelling back 'like hell, kid' that she might (would) have otherwise.

Belle smiled, removed her apron, and headed for the front door – acutely aware that the soft creak of the spinning wheel had stopped for those few heartbeats between the knock at the door and Henry's proclamation that he would answer it. It had started up again though. Silly man was nervous, but she supposed he had every right to be. He hadn't seen his son for over three hundred years, after all.

~oOo~

Neal had, after lunch with Emma, gone hunting through Storybrooke for a place where he could get a suit. Or at least something more formal than a pair of jeans. Emma had said dinner with 'the family' would require 'more formal than usual' dress, after all. He wasn't going to be the embarrassment at the table, well, not if he could help it anyway.

His navy blue hounds-tooth jacket was not now, and never would be, formal. Fairly smart and work-appropriate, certainly, but not formal. His old grey corduroy jacket was even less so. And he hadn't actually packed any slacks at all. His jackets had only been added to his bags because he knew that Maine was cold this time of year, and they were both warm.

The forecast said snow was due in the area any day now.

When the door was opened (by a vision of a woman with chocolate brown hair, sapphire blue eyes, ruby lips, perfectly cream skin, and wearing a modest but very attractive number in green trimmed with gold), Neal was very glad he had found a place that would sell him a suit. Complete with shirt, tie, and even the shoes and silk handkerchief for his pocket as well. Then the woman smiled (and it lit up her whole face like the sun came out just for her, and her prefect teeth were as white as the whitest porcelain).

“You must be Neal,” she said, and stepped aside to let him in. “Please come in. Dinner is just about ready, and until then -”

A face Neal is slightly familiar with strides up behind the woman with a smile on his face.

“I'll take him to meet Henry,” Harry offered.

Neal crossed the threshold and let the door be the woman close the door behind him.

“You'll really only have time to say 'hello' before I call you back down, but alright,” she agreed, and smiled as she shuffled them off. “You go and bond in as manly a fashion as you can without getting yourselves messy, and Emma will help me get the food to the table.”

Then she was out of sight as Harry led Neal deeper into the very fine-looking house that matched the address Emma had given him.

“Your aunt has a nice house,” Neal offered as he followed Harry down the hall.

Harry chuckled. “Well, it is now,” he said. “Thankfully, she didn't have to work too hard to convince Uncle to let her repaint it. The weatherboard used to be pink.”

Neal grimaced. Not just at the thought of the house being pink, but at the realisation that he'd just been told the beautiful woman who had met him at the door was married, and he was only here because of Emma and their son. He felt a little like scum for having even looked.

Harry smiled. “Don't worry about it,” he said, as though reading Neal's mind. “Aunty Belle has that effect on a lot of people. Uncle only stopped saying he didn't deserve her because she gave him an argument he couldn't find voice to fault one day.”

“What was that?” Neal asked, curious.

“Something along the lines of 'either I am perfect, or I am foolish, but I cannot be both,' and 'if I deserve whatever I want, then I deserve you,' I believe is roughly how it went,” Harry quipped happily. “I expect she called him a silly man more than once though. She does that a lot. Here we are,” he declared then, and knocked on the door he'd stopped in front of.

The door opened, and Neal set eyes on his son for the very first time.

“Hi!” the boy, dressed in a white shirt with a black tie, vest and slacks, greeted, and he was grinning.

Neal didn't even manage to choke out an answer before the sound of a bell being rung echoed through the house.

“That means the food is on the table,” Harry informed Neal, and turned around to go back the way they'd come – but this time with Henry between them.

Neal was very conscious of the boy looking up at him, studying him, as they walked. He wasn't aware of very much else at all, but that he was very, very aware of.


	19. Chapter 19

“Yes, of course,” a familiar voice penetrated Neal's haze.

A painfully familiar face smiled a completely unfamiliar smile to the woman who had met him at the door, and accepted a carving knife from her – and pressed a kiss to her cheek before he shifted to carve the roast meat that was set before him on the table.

“What's the seating arrangement for tonight Mrs Gold?” Henry asked eagerly, and the question distracted Neal from staring at the man who was carving the meat at the table.

The beautiful woman gave the boy a that beaming smile that lit up her face and the room.

“You and our special guest will be sitting in the places of honour, at the right and left of the head of the table, and your mother and Harry will be either side of me,” she answered him.

“No name cards tonight though, kiddo,” Emma interjected as she stepped out of the kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand, and a bottle of sparkling grape-juice (or alternatively known as non-alcoholic wine) in the other.

And Neal was distracted all over again.

“Wow.”

He blinked.

Emma smirked at him.

Then Neal realised that it was him who'd just spoken.

“You clean up pretty good yourself,” she acknowledged easily. “Now sit down next to your dad before your knees give out from shock,” she advised.

His dad. The casual acknowledgement of that title being assigned to the well-dressed, carefully shaved gentleman who was carving the meat at the head of the table finally did him in. Neal sat down (on the chair that Harry had pulled out for him and ushered him towards) heavily.

“You -?!” Neal tried to start.

“Don't even,” Emma warned him sharply as she took her own seat. “You set me up to take a fall, you abandoned me, and you left me in a jail cell. I have so many reasons to never want to see you again, but between your father and your son, I found enough reasons _to_ see you again that it tipped the scale in your favour.”

“Uncle Rum can't leave Storybrooke though,” Harry stated as he also sat down. “It's part of the curse that brought him to this world.”

“A curse that Emma is gonna break,” Henry added proudly as he bounced into his chair. “And when she does, all the other fairy-tale characters that are living here will remember who they are!”

“So your father and I have pretty much adopted Emma, since she is the mother of your son. Harry, your father... adopted, I suppose, as part of a deal. His mother was afraid for his life, and when she died, Rumple took him and raised him. Rumple and I were married... thirty? Forty years ago? It's a bit relative, but some time ago now,” Belle explained, then smiled over at Emma. “See how easy it is to explain?” she asked with sweet, falsely innocent amusement.

“Belle, please don't make jokes like that when I'm too far away to kiss you for them,” Rumple requested with a curling smile of his own. “Now, who wants some of this?” he offered, and held up some of the sliced meat between carving knife and fork.

“Ooh, I do!” Henry requested eagerly.

“You tricked me into coming here,” Neal accused Emma across the table once they had all been served.

“Of course I did,” she agreed easily.

“Do you even know who my father is?” Neal growled.

“I think she knows better than you do, actually,” Harry offered mildly. “What with coming over for dinner at least once a week since the second month after she arrived in town.”

“And you two having not set eyes on each other for the better part of three hundred years,” Emma agreed.

Henry frowned. “How does that work?” he asked, curious. “I get that Grandfather lived that long because of the curse of the Dark One, but you don't have a curse,” he said, his comment directed to Neal.

“I was in Neverland for a while,” Neal admitted with a rueful, not-entirely-happy smile.

Rumple and Harry both scowled at the mention of the place though, and Emma and Belle both frowned deeply.

“What was it like?” Henry asked eagerly.

“It's a horrible place,” Rumple cut in before his son could answer. “Full of horrible, selfish people.”

“You've been to Neverland, Grandfather?” Henry asked, surprised.

“I have,” Rumple agreed. “More than once, but those are stories that will put at least most of us off eating, so they can wait,” he deferred.

By the end of the night, Neal had agreed to stay until the New Year at least. He'd also allowed for his dad (and only his dad) to call him 'Bae', while everyone else called him 'Neal' – though Henry was welcome to call him 'Dad' if he wanted. Neal was also calling his father 'Papa' again, and manly but tearful hugs had been shared.

Being forced to sit at the table and listen politely because his son was right across from him had really done wonders for Neal's understanding of his father – even if it was his step-mother who told a good portion of the story.

And then there was listening to Henry talk about 'Operation Cobra'. If Neal hadn't known exactly how real magic really was, and if he hadn't heard about the curse from August Booth before, he would have been very worried about the kid's mental state.

~oOo~

“I think that went well,” Belle offered as she stood with her husband in their entryway, having just waved goodnight to Harry, Neal, Emma and Henry.

“It certainly went much better than I had even dared to hope,” Rumple agreed softly. “Thank you Belle,” he whispered, and pressed a kiss to her soft mouth.

She hummed at the sweet taste of their evening wine on her husband's lips.

“I wouldn't have been able to do this without you,” Rumple admitted when they parted, and his breath shook with the nerves he had been holding back all evening.

“Oh, I'm sure you would have managed just fine,” Belle countered easily. “You're the one that taught me how to cook, after all.”

That startled a bark of laughter out of her husband, and Belle smiled.

The smile fell away a little though when she turned to face the hall that led into their big, empty house – and after having just had four guests (all family) for dinner, it felt very empty indeed.

“Husband,” she called softly, he was standing beside her, after all.

“Yes Wife?” he countered, amused by the address as much as he was intrigued by it.

“I would welcome you in my chambers tonight,” Belle offered.

“I don't know if I would be able to stay away a second night, if you were to ever give me a first,” Rumple admitted at length, having needed a moment to process the implications of that statement.

Belle smiled softly at that. “I'm counting on it,” she replied.

All these years of marriage and – all jokes, teasing, quips and innuendos aside – the couple had still never shared a bed to that purpose. They had still not shared their marriage bed. They couldn't while in the Enchanted Forest and Rumplestiltskin was the cursed Dark One; a simple kiss between them would have broken his curse, and that fact had been firmly established long before Belle began to see all the ways in which her husband was an attractive creature.

Then she'd had to get used to his looks all over again when they came here. That hadn't taken very much time at all, and Belle _did_ long to know her husband. But she was a well-read woman, and conservatively raised. The prospect of the act itself made her nervous as much as excited.

“I will meet you in your rooms then,” Rumple agreed softly.

Belle nodded in acceptance. They had to get dressed for bed, even if they were about to join in an activity that would see the removal of their nightclothes. She didn't care for having to worry about her hairpins and hose, nor her husband's tie and belt. She was quite nervous enough without that getting in the way.

~oOo~

Belle smiled a secret little smile up at the tree. Neal and Emma had picked it out with Henry, but it was in her living room. None of them lived together, after all. Neal was still staying at Granny's, rather than moving in with his papa. He'd been on his own for too long to be completely (or even remotely) comfortable with living with the man again, but he was happy to come for dinner twice a week, and meet for lunch in town every other day.

So much had happened since they'd come to Storybrooke. So very much. Charming was awake, and the divorce was finalised just a week ago. Mary Margaret was setting Kathryn up with the man who had been Frederick back in the Enchanted Forest, they had a date that very night, in fact. It was a double-date with Emma and Neal. Graham had gotten down on one knee in front of Ruby in the middle of Granny's just as the lunch rush was beginning.

Maximum audience, minimal risk of her bowling over him as she worked. They were getting married in the new year – date set for Valentine's day, in fact.

Regina was both furious, and panicking. People were _happy_. People were getting their _happy endings_ , despite her curse. Okay, so not everybody – Jefferson in particular was still miserable, aware of both lives and unable to do more than just watch his daughter from afar – but a lot of people.

It was particularly fun for Belle to stop Regina any time she said she “was just doing her duty as mayor” and counter that, no, she was being a busy-body and sticking her nose into other people's lives, where it didn't belong, so kindly piss off before it gets cut off. Please.

The way Rumple had kissed her after the first time she'd done that still make her toes curl in remembrance.

A box appeared at Belle's feet in a cloud of purple mist, startling her out of her thoughts. Then a second, and a third. Finally the front door creaked open – Belle made a note to oil those hinges later – and her husband walked in, carrying a fourth box.

“That's everything,” he declared. “And I delivered your invitations while I was collecting the rent,” he assured her.

“Several people on our guest list don't owe rent,” Belle pointed out.

“I can still make pit-stops along the way,” Rumple countered. “But, uh, I didn't deliver Henry's or Grace's. Thought you'd be better to do that.”

Belle smiled. “I'll go by the school tomorrow. Grace is more likely to be able to come if she knows why she's being invited,” she agreed.

“For Henry to have someone his own age at the party, rather than because it will give her real father a chance to interact with her,” Rumple said with a smile. “Yes, and she's also less likely to be scared by your very presence. Now, shall we get to decorating?”

“We shall.”

~oOo~

It happened while they were exchanging gifts. Everybody had a mug of either eggnog or cocoa, and they were sitting around the tree. Mrs Gold had arranged for a 'secret Santa' with each invitation, so everybody had come with a gift, and everybody would be getting something, so no one had to feel left out. Henry thought that Mrs Gold was being a bit sneaky with how she had assigned the secret Santa though.

Mr Jefferson had given Paige a white rabbit plushie in a hat that he'd made himself. Paige had given Miss Blanchard a book she'd made herself, with home-made paper even. Miss Blanchard had given Miss Kathryn (who wasn't Mrs Nolan any more) a very nice bird-house. Miss Kathryn had given Ashley a tupperware full of her famous chocolate samosas, and a voucher for the baby store to spend on little Alexandra however she liked. Ashley had given Emma a set of fuzzy hand-cuffs, and Sean asked if Emma would be using those when arresting people at this time of year instead of the regular ones, because the metal would be cold.

Everybody laughed at that, especially when Emma said she'd think about it. Sean had then given Mr Potter a voucher for a free tune-up for his motorbike, and Mr Potter had given Sean a voucher too, though Sean hadn't said what it was, just given Mr Potter a really grateful man-hug.

Graham got Ruby a wolf necklace, and Ruby got Graham a new leather jacket with a picture of a wolf embossed on the back. Neal gave Mrs Gold a mug that said 'not all step-mothers are evil' on one side, and 'best mother ever' on the other. Mrs Gold passed a slim box wrapped up in gold and silver over to her husband, but when he opened the slim little box, his eyes went wider than Henry had ever seen them before he dropped the box and started kissing Mrs Gold.

Emma picked up the box that Mr Gold had dropped and looked inside.

“Looks like you're gonna be a big brother, Neal,” she said. “Congratulations Isobelle, William.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Gold answered with a smile once her husband released her.

Mr Gold gave Mr Jefferson a fine tea-set and some high-grade tea. Henry gave Neal a present similar to the one that Neal had given to Mrs Gold, only the mug that Henry had found for his dad had a stripe that would change colour depending on how hot the mug (or the drink in the mug) was.

And Emma gave Henry a set of wooden swords.

He hugged her tightly and said thank-you he wasn't sure how many times.

“Love ya Henry,” she said in answer, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

A ripple of power moved outwards like a sonic wave, but in colour.

“What was that?” Emma asked nervously as a number of the people around the room raised a hand to their heads.

“Congratulations, Miss Swan,” Mr Gold said with a smile that was full of pride, the kind that a parent has when their child does something wonderful all on their own for the very first time. “You just broke the curse. Everybody remembers who they really are now. I must say, I thought it might take you a few more months before you'd do it.”

Emma's jaw dropped open in shock.

“It was really that simple?” she asked.

Mr Gold nodded. “The True Love of a parent for their child,” he said, eyes warm and soft at the thought. Especially since Belle was going to give him another child. He could hardly wait to hold his child in his arms, to be a parent again.

Paige threw herself at Jefferson, 'daddy' on her lips.

~The End~

~Epilogue~

Rumple hadn't been able to stand by and let his father destroy his family, even if the only way to protect them meant dying for them, but it was alright. Belle stood with Harry and Neal in the clearing where the Vault of the Dark One was located.

There was some argument that, as she was pregnant, she ought to stay behind, but she wasn't letting the fact that she was in her second trimester stop her from getting her husband back.

Harry unleashed a particular soul from Pandora's Box.

“Where am I?” Tom Riddle demanded.

“You are at the gate that leads to the greatest evil in this realm,” Belle said with a tempting little smile, and held up the key to the vault. “Do you have what it takes?” she offered.

Without even thinking – the better part of six years trapped inside Pandora's Box had clearly deteriorated his mind, or else he was always mad and foolish – the grotesque man snatched the key from Belle.

Neal cleared the snow away, revealing the lock where the key was to be placed.

Voldemort didn't hesitate. He plunged the key into the lock.

Behind him, Harry and Belle smiled, satisfied, while Neal simply looked on dispassionately.

Then Tom Riddle screamed, released the key that had burned him, and slammed his palm into the snow.

Blackness congealed and rose, then solidified into a form as Tom Riddle died in the snow.

“Rumple!” Belle cried joyfully, and threw herself into her husband's arms.

“Belle,” Rumplestiltskin answered, the word like a prayer on his lips – and then they were slanted over hers in a loving, passionate kiss.

Rainbow light rippled out from them like an explosion of power, and Rumplestiltskin was freed from the curse of the Dark One.

“You're not allowed to die again, is that quite clear?” Belle demanded when they parted.

Rumple chuckled breathlessly. “Crystal,” he confirmed with a tender smile, and happily kissed her again.

~Really The End~


End file.
